THE  SPY 

THE  STORY  OF  A  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN 


BY 
MAXIM  GORKY 


Authorized  translation  by  Thomas  Seltzer 


NEW  YORK 

B.  W.  HUEBSCH 

MCMXVIII 


Copyright,  1908 
By  B.  W.  HUEBSCH 

First  printing,  November,  1908 

Second   printing,    March,    1909 

Third  printing,  March,  1918 


EN(3l.'?H   r 


?Q  3^3 


THE  SPY 


CHAPTER  I 

"VI^HEN  Yevsey  Klimkov  was  four  years  old, 
his  father  was  shot  dead  by  the  forester;  and 
when  he  was  seven  years  old,  his  mother  died. 
She  died  suddenly  in  the  field  at  harvest  time. 
And  so  strange  was  this  that  Yevsey  was  not  even 
frightened  by  the  sight  of  her  dead  body. 

Uncle  Piotr,  a  blacksmith,  put  his  hand  on  the 
boy's  head,  and  said: 

11  What  are  we  going  to  do  now?  " 

Yevsey  took  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  corner 
where  his  mother  lay  upon  a  bench,  and  answered 
in  a  low  voice: 

"  I  don't  know." 

The  blacksmith  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  face 
with  his  shirtsleeve,  and  after  a  long  silence  gently 
shoved  his  nephew  aside. 

"  You're  going  to  live  with  me,"  he  said. 
"  We'll  send  you  to  school,  I  suppose,  so  that  you 
won't  be  in  our  way.     Ah,  you  old  man !  " 

From  that  day  the  boy  was  called  Old  Man. 

433030 


%     /.::;;:;::V;:frHESPY 

The  nickname  suited  him  very  well.  He  was  too 
small  for  his  age,  his  movements  were  sluggish, 
and  his  voice  thin.  A  little  bird-like  nJse  stuck  out 
sadly  from  a  bony  face,  his  round  colorless  eyes 
blinked  timorously,  his  hair  was  sparse  and  grew 
in  tufts.  The  impression  he  made  was  of  a  puny, 
shriveled-up  little  old  fellow.  The  children  in 
school  laughed  at  him  and  beat  him,  his  dull  old- 
ish look  and  his  owl-like  face  somehow  irritating 
the  healthier  and  livelier  among  them.  He  held 
himself  aloof,  and  lived  alone,  silently,  always  in 
the  shade,  or  in  some  corner  or  hole.  Without 
winking  his  round  eyes  he  looked  forth  upon  the 
people  from  his  retirement,  cautiously  contracted 
like  a  snail  in  its  shell.  When  his  eyes  grew  tired, 
he  closed  them,  and  for  a  long  time  sat  sightless, 
gently  swaying  his  thin  body. 

Yevsey  endeavored  to  escape  observation  even 
in  his  uncle's  home ;  but  here  it  was  difficult.  He 
had  to  dine  and  sup  in  the  company  of  the  whole 
family,  and  when  he  sat  at  the  table,  Yakov,  the 
uncle's  youngest  son,  a  lusty,  red-faced  youngster, 
tried  every  trick  to  tease  him  or  make  him  laugh. 
He  made  faces,  stuck  out  his  tongue,  kicked  Yev- 
sey's  legs  under  the  table,  and  pinched  him.  He 
never  succeeded,  however,  in  making  the  Old  Man 
laugh,  though  he  did  succeed  in  producing  quite  the 
opposite  result,  for  often  Yevsey  would  start  with 
pain,  his  yellow  face  would  turn  grey,  his  eyes  open 
wide,  and  his  spoon  tremble  in  his  hand. 


THE  SPY  3 

11  What  is  it?  "  his  uncle  Piotr  sometimes  asked. 

"  It's  Yashka,"  the  boy  explained  in  an  even 
voice,  in  wrfith  there  was  no  note  of  complaint. 

If  Uncle  Piotr  gave  Yashka  a  box  on  the  ear, 
or  pulled  his  hair,  Aunt  Agafya  puckered  up  her 
lips  and  muttered  angrily: 

"Ugh,  you  telltale!" 

And  then  Yashka  found  him  somewhere,  and 
pummeled  him  long  and  assiduously  upon  back, 
sides,  and  stomach.  Yevsey  endured  the  drubbing 
as  something  inevitable.  It  would  not  have  been 
profitable  to  complain  of  Yashka,  because  if  Uncle 
Piotr  beat  his  son,  Aunt  Agafya  repaid  the  pun- 
ishment with  interest  upon  her  nephew,  and  her 
blows  were  more  painful  than  Yashka's.  So  when 
Yevsey  saw  that  Yashka  wanted  to  attack  him,  he 
merely  ran  away,  though  he  was  always  overtaken. 
Then  the  Old  Man  dropped  to  the  ground,  and 
pressed  his  body  to  the  soil  with  all  his  might,  pull- 
ing up  his  knees  to  his  stomach,  covering  his  face 
and  his  head  with  his  hands,  and  silently  yielding 
his  sides  and  back  to  his  cousin's  fists.  The  more 
patiently  he  bore  the  buffeting,  the  angrier  grew 
Yashka.  Sometimes  Yashka  even  cried  and 
shouted,  while  he  kicked  his  cousin's  body : 

"  You  nasty  louse,  you,  scream!  " 

Once  Yevsey  found  a  horseshoe  and  gave  it  to 
the  little  pugilist,  because  he  knew  Yashka  would 
take  it  from  him  at  any  rate.  Mollified  by  the 
present,  Yashka  asked: 


'4  THE  SPY 

"  Did  I  hurt  you  very  much  when  I  beat  you  the 
last  time?" 

"  Very  much,"  answered  Yevsey. 

Yashka  thought  a  while,  scratched  his  head,  and 
said  in  embarrassment: 

"  It's  nothing.     It  will  pass  away." 

He  left  Yevsey,  but  somehow  his  words  settled 
deep  in  the  Old  Man's  heart,  and  he  repeated  hope- 
fully in  an  undertone : 

"  It  will  pass  away." 

Once  Yevsey  saw  some  women  pilgrims  rubbing 
their  tired  feet  with  nettles.  He  followed  their 
example,  and  applied  the  nettles  to  his  bruised 
sides.  It  seemed  to  him  his  pain  was  greatly  as- 
suaged. From  that  time  he  religiously  rubbed  his 
wounds  with  the  down  of  the  noxious  and  despised 
weed. 

He  was  poor  at  his  lessons,  because  he  came  to 
school  full  of  dread  of  beatings,  and  he  left  school 
swelling  with  a  sense  of  insult.  His  apparent  ap- 
prehension of  being  wronged  evoked  in  others  the 
unconquerable  desire  to  ply  the  Old  Man  with 
blows. 

It  turned  out  that  Yevsey  had  a  counter-tenor, 
and  the  teacher  took  him  to  the  church  choir. 
After  this  he  had  to  be  at  home  less,  but  to  compen- 
sate he  met  his  schoolmates  more  frequently,  at  the 
rehearsals,  and  they  all  fought  no  less  than  Yashka. 

The  old  frame  church  pleased  Yevsey.  He  was 
always  strongly  drawn  to  peep  into  the  snug  warm 


THE  SPY  $ 

quiet  of  its  many  dark  corners,  expecting  to  find 
in  one  of  them  something  uncommon  and  good, 
which  would  embrace  him,  press  him  tenderly  to 
itself,  and  speak  to  him  the  way  his  mother 
used  to.  All  the  sacred  images,  black  with  many 
years  of  soot,  with  their  good  yet  stern  expression, 
recalled  the  dark-bearded  face  of  Uncle  Piotr. 

At  the  church  entrance  was  a  picture,  which  de- 
picted a  saint  who  had  caught  the  devil  and  was 
beating  him;  the  saint,  a  tall,  dark,  sinewy  fellow 
with  long  hands,  the  devil,  a  reddish,  lean  wizened 
creature  of  stunted  growth  resembling  a  little  goat. 
At  first  Yevsey  did  not  look  at  the  devil;  he  had  a 
desire  to  spit  at  him  surreptitiously;  but  then  he 
began  to  pity  the  unfortunate  little  fiend,  and  when 
nobody  was  around  he  tenderly  stroked  the  goat- 
like little  chin  disfigured  by  dread  and  pain.  Thus, 
for  the  first  time  a  sense  of  pity  sprang  up  in  the 
boy's  heart. 

Yevsey  liked  the  church  for  another  reason :  here 
all  the  people,  even  the  notorious  ruffians,  dropped 
their  boisterousness,  and  conducted  themselves 
quietly  and  submissively.  For  loud  talk  fright- 
ened Yevsey.  He  ran  away  from  excited  faces 
and  shouts,  and  hid  himself,  owing  to  the  fact  that 
once  on  a  market-day  he  had  seen  a  brawl  between 
a  number  of  muzhiks,  which  began  by  their  talking 
to  one  another  in  very  loud  voices.  Then  they 
shouted  and  pushed;  next  someone  seized  a  pole, 
waved  it  about,  and  struck  another  man.     A  terri- 


6  THE  SPY 

ble  howl  ensued,  many  started  to  run.  They 
knocked  the  Old  Man  off  his  feet,  and  he  fell  face 
downward  in  a  puddle.  When  he  jumped  up  he 
saw  a  huge  muzhik  coming  toward  him  waving  his 
hands,  with  a  quivering,  gory  blotch  instead  of  a 
face.  This  was  so  terrible  that  Yevsey  yelled,  and 
suddenly  felt  as  if  he  were  being  precipitated  into  a 
black  pit.  He  had  to  be  sprinkled  with  water  to 
bring  him  to  his  senses. 

.  Yevsey  was  also  afraid  of  drunken  men.  His 
mother  had  told  him  that  a  demon  takes  up 
his  abode  in  the  body  of  a  drunkard.  The  Old 
Man  imagined  this  demon  prickly  as  a  hedge- 
hog and  moist  as  a  frog,  with  a  reddish  body  and 
green  eyes,  who  settles  in  a  man's  stomach,  stirs 
about  there,  and  turns  the  man  into  an  evil  fiend. 
'There  were  many  other  good  things  about  the 
church.  Besides  the  quiet  and  tender  twilight, 
Yevsey  liked  the  singing.  When  he  sang  without 
notes,  he  closed  his  eyes  firmly,  and  letting  his  clear 
plaintive  soprano  blend  with  the  general  chorus  in 
order  it  should  not  be  heard  above  the  others,  he 
hid  himself  deliciously  somewhere,  as  if  overcome 
by  a  sweet  sleep.  In  this  drowsy  state  it  seemed 
to  him  he  was  drifting  away  from  life,  approach- 
ing another  gentle,  peaceful  existence. 

A  thought  took  shape  in  his  mind,  which  he 
once  expressed  to  his  uncle  in  these  words : 
%  i       "  Can  a  person  live  so  that  he  can  go  every- 
where and  see  everything,  but  be  seen  by  nobody?  " 


THE  SPY  7 

"  Invisibly?  "  asked  the  blacksmith,  and  thought 
a  while.  "  I  should  suppose  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble." He  turned  his  black  face  to  his  nephew, 
and  added  seriously,  "  Yes,  of  course,  it  would  be 
very  nice  if  you  could  do  it,  Orphan." 

From  the  moment  that  all  the  villagers  began 
to  call  Yevsey  "  Old  Man,"  Uncle  Piotr  used 
"  Orphan  "  instead.  A  peculiar  man  in  every  re- 
spect the  blacksmith  was  not  terrible  even  when 
drunk.  He  would  merely  remove  his  hat  from  his 
head  and  walk  about  the  street  waving  it,  singing 
in  a  high  doleful  voice,  smiling,  and  shaking  his 
head.  The  tears  would  run  down  his  face  even 
more  copiously  than  when  he  was  sober. 

His  uncle  seemed  to  Yevsey  the  very  wisest 
and  best  muzhik  in  the  whole  village.  He  could 
talk  with  him  about  everything.  Though  he  of- 
ten smiled  he  scarcely  ever  laughed;  he  spoke  with- 
out haste,  in  a  quiet,  serious  tone.  Either  failing 
to  notice  his  nephew,  or  forgetting  about  him  — 
which  especially  pleased  Yevsey  —  he  would  talk 
to  himself  in  his  shop,  keeping  up  a  constant  dis- 
pute with  some  invisible  opponent  and  forever  ad- 
monishing him. 

"  Confound  you,"  he  would  mumble,  but  with- 
out anger.  "Greedy  maw!  Don't  I  work? 
There,  I  have  scorched  my  eyes.  I'll  soon  get 
blind.  What  else  do  you  want?  A  curse  on  this 
life!     Hard  luck!     No  beauty  —  no  joy." 

His  interjections  sounded  as  if  he  were  compos- 


8  THE  SPY 

ing  psalms;  and  Yevsey  had  the  impression  that 
his  uncle  was  actually  facing  the  man  he  was  ad- 
dressing. 

Once  Yevsey  asked : 

"  Whom  are  you  talking  to  ?  " 

"  Whom  am  I  talking  to?  "  repeated  the  black- 
smith without  looking  at  the  boy.  Then  he  smiled 
and  answered.     "  I'm  talking  to  my  stupidity." 

But  it  was  a  rare  thing  for  Yevsey  to  be  able  to 
speak  with  his  guardian,  for  he  was  seldom  alone. 
Yashka,  round  as  a  top,  often  spun  about  the  place, 
drowning  the  blows  of  the  hammer  and  the  crack- 
ling of  the  coals  in  the  furnace  with  his  piercing 
shouts.  In  his  presence  Yevsey  did  not  dare  even 
to  look  at  his  uncle. 

The  smithy  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  shallow  ra- 
vine, at  the  bottom  of  which  among  the  osier 
bushes,  Yevsey  passed  all  his  leisure  time  in  spring, 
summer,  and  autumn.  Here  it  was  as  peaceful  as 
in  the  church.  The  birds  warbled,  the  bees  and 
drones  hummed,  and  a  fine  quiet  song  quivered  in 
the  air.  The  boy  sat  there  swaying  his  body  and 
brooding  with  tightly  shut  eyes.  Or  he  roamed 
amid  the  bushes,  listening  to  the  noise  in  the  black- 
smith shop.  When  he  perceived  his  uncle  was 
alone,  he  crept  out  and  went  up  to  him. 

"What,  you,  Orphan?"  was  the  blacksmith's 
greeting,  as  he  scrutinized  the  boy  with  his  little 
eyes  wet  with  tears. 

Once  Yevsey  asked: 


THE  SPY  9 

"  Is  the  evil  power  in  the  church  at  night?  " 

The  smith  thought  a  while,  and  answered: 

"Why  shouldn't  it  be?  It  gets  everywhere. 
That's  easy  for  it." 

The  boy  raised  his  shoulders,  and  with  his 
round  eyes  searchingly  examined  the  dark  corners 
of  the  shop. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  the  devils,"  the  uncle  ad- 
vised. 

Yevsey  sighed,  and  answered  quietly: 

"  I'm  not  afraid." 

"  They  won't  hurt  you,"  the  blacksmith  ex- 
plained with  assurance,  wiping  his  eyes  with  his 
black  fingers.     Then  Yevsey  asked: 

"And  how  about  God?" 

"What  about  Him?" 

"  Why  does  God  let  devils  get  into  the  church?  " 

"What's  that  to  him?  God  isn't  the  keeper 
of  the  church." 

"  Doesn't  he  live  there?" 

"Who?  God?  Why  should  He?  His  place, 
Orphan,  is  everywhere.  The  churches  are  for  the 
people." 

"And  the  people,  what  are  they  for?" 

"  The  people  —  it  seems  they  are  —  in  gen- 
eral —  for  everything.  You  can't  get  along  with- 
out people." 

"Are  they  for  God?" 

The  blacksmith  looked  askance  at  his  nephew, 
and  answered  after  a  pause: 


io  THE  SPY 

"  Of  course."  Wiping  his  hands  on  his  apron 
and  staring  at  the  fire  in  the  furnace,  he  added, 
"  I  don't  know  about  this  business,  Orphan.  Why 
don't  you  ask  the  teacher  or  the  priest  ?" 

Yevsey  wiped  his  nose  on  his  shirtsleeve. 
N     "  I'm  afraid  of  them." 

"  It  would  be  better  for  you  not  to  talk  of  such 
things,"  the  uncle  advised  gravely.  "  You  are  a 
little  boy.  You  should  play  out  in  the  open  air,  and 
store  up  health.  If  you  want  to  live  you  must  be 
a  healthy  man.  If  you  are  not  strong,  you  can't 
work.  Then  you  can't  live  at  all.  That's  all  we 
know,  and  what  God  needs  is  unknown  to  us."  He 
grew  silent,  and  meditated  without  removing  his 
eyes  from  the  fire.  After  a  time  he  continued  in 
a  serious  tone,  speaking  choppily :  "  On  the  one 
hand  I  know  nothing,  on  the  other  hand  I  don't  un- 
derstand. They  say  all  wisdom  comes  from  Him. 
Yet  it's  evident  that  the  thicker  one's  candle  before 
God  the  more  wolfish  the  heart."  He  looked 
around  the  shop,  and  his  eyes  fell  on  the  boy  in 
the  corner.  "  Why  are  you  squeezing  yourself 
into  that  crack?  I  told  you  to  go  out  and  play." 
As  Yevsey  crept  out  timidly,  the  smith  added,  "A 
spark  will  fall  into  your  eye,  and  then  you'll  be  one- 
eyed.     Who  wants  a  one-eyed  fellow?" 

His  mother  had  told  Yevsey  several  stories  on 
winter  nights  when  the  snowstorm  knocking  against 
the  walls  of  the  hut  ran  along  the  roof,  touched 
everything  as  if  groping  for  something  in  anguish, 


THE  SPY  ii 

crept  down  the  chimney,  and  whined  there  mourn- 
fully in  different  keys.  The  mother  recited  the 
tales  quietly,  drowsily.  Her  speech  sometimes 
grew  confused;  often  she  repeated  the  same  words 
several  times.  It  seemed  to  the  boy  she  saw  every- 
thing about  which  she  spoke,  but  obscurely,  as  in 
the  dark. 

The  neighbors  reminded  Yevsey  of  his  mother's 
tales.  The  blacksmith,  too,  it  seemed,  saw  in  the 
furnace-fire  both  devils  and  God,  and  all  the  terrors 
of  human  life.  That  was  why  he  continually  wept. 
While  Yevsey  listened  to  his  talk,  which  set  his 
heart  aquiver  with  a  dreadful  tremor  of  expecta- 
tion, the  hope  insensibly  formulated  itself  that  some 
day  he  would  see  something  remarkable,  not  re- 
sembling the  life  in  the  village,  the  drunken  muz- 
hiks, the  cantankerous  women,  the  boisterous  chil- 
dren —  something  quite  different,  without  noise 
and  confusion,  without  malice  and  quarreling,  some- 
thing lovable  and  serious,  like  the  church  service. 

One  of  the  neighbors  was  a  blind  girl,  with 
whom  Yevsey  became  intimate.  He  took  her  to 
walk  in  the  village;  carefully  helped  her  down  the 
ravine,  and  spoke  to  her  in  a  low  voice,  opening 
wide  his  watery  eyes  in  fear.  This  friendship  did 
not  escape  the  notice  of  the  villagers,  all  of  whom 
it  pleased.  But  once  the  mother  of  the  blind  girl 
came  to  Uncle  Piotr  with  a  complaint.  She  de- 
clared Yevsey  had  frightened  Tanya  with  his  talk, 
and  now  she  could  not  leave  her  daughter  alone. 


12  THE  SPY 

because  the  girl  cried  and  slept  poorly,  had  dis- 
turbed dreams,  and  started  out  of  her  sleep  scream- 
ing. What  Yevsey  had  said  to  her  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  make  out.  She  kept  babbling  about  devils, 
about  the  sky  being  black  and  having  holes  in  it, 
about  fires  visible  through  the  holes,  and  about 
devils  who  made  sport  in  there,  and  teased  people. 
What  does  it  mean  ?  How  can  anyone  tell  a  little 
girl  such  stuff? 

"  Come  here,"  said  Uncle  Piotr  to  his  nephew. 

When  Yevsey  quietly  left  his  corner,  the  smith 
put  his  rough  heavy  hand  on  his  head  and  asked: 

"Did  you  tell  her  all  that  ?" 

"  I  did." 

"Why?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

The  blacksmith,  without  removing  his  hand, 
shoved  back  the  boy's  head,  and  looking  into  his 
eyes  asked  gravely: 

"Why,  is  the  sky  black?" 

"  What  else  is  it  if  she  can't  see?  "  Yevsey  mut- 
tered. 

"Who?" 

"  Tanya." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  blacksmith.  After  a  moment's 
reflection  he  asked,  "  And  how  about  the  fire  being 
black?     Why  did  you  invent  that?  " 

The  boy  dropped  his  eyes  and  was  silent. 

"  Well,  speak.  Nobody  is  beating  you.  Why 
did  you  tell  her  all  that  nonsense,  eh?  " 


THE  SPY  13 

"  I  was  sorry  for  her,"  whispered  Yevsey. 

The  blacksmith  pushed  him  aside  lightly. 

"  You  shan't  talk  to  her  any  more,  do  you  hear? 
Never!  Don't  worry,  Aunt  Praskovya,  we'll  put 
an  end  to  this  friendship." 

11  You  ought  to  give  him  a  whipping,"  said  the 
mother.  "  My  little  girl  lived  quietly,  she  wasn't 
a  bit  of  a  bother  to  anybody,  and  now  someone 
has  to  be  with  her  all  the  time." 

After  Praskovya  had  left,  the  smith  without 
saying  anything  led  Yevsey  by  the  hand  into  the 
yard. 

"  Now  talk  sensibly.  Why  did  you  frighten  the 
little  girl?" 

The  uncle's  voice  was  not  loud,  but  it  wa9 
stern.  Yevsey  became  frightened,  and  quickly 
began  to  justify  himself,  stuttering  over  his 
words. 

11  I  didn't  frighten  her  —  I  did  it  just  —  just  — 
she  kept  complaining  —  she  said  I  see  only  black, 
but  for  you  everything  —  so  I  began  to  tell  her 
everything  is  black  to  keep  her  from  being  envious. 
I  didn't  mean  to  frighten  her  at  all." 

Yevsey  broke  into  sobs,  feeling  himself  wronged. 
Uncle  Piotr  smiled. 

"  You  fool !  You  should  have  remembered  that 
she's  been  blind  only  three  years.  She  wasn't  born 
blind.  She  lost  her  sight  after  she  had  the  small- 
pox. So  she  recollects  what  things  are  really 
bright.     Oh,  what  a  stupid  fellow !  " 


14  THE  SPY 

"  I'm  not  stupid.  She  believed  me,"  Yevsey  re- 
torted, wiping  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  all  right.  Only  don't  go  with  her  any 
more.     Do  you  hear?  " 

"  I  won't." 

"As  to  your  crying;  it's  nothing.  Let  them 
think  I  gave  you  a  beating."  The  blacksmith 
tapped  Yevsey  on  the  shoulder,  and  continued  with 
—a  smile,  "  You  and  I,  we're  cheats,  both  of  us." 

The  little  fellow  buried  his  head  in  his  uncle's 
side,  and  asked  tremulously: 

"  Why  is  everybody  down  on  me?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Orphan,"  answered  the  uncle 
after  a  moment's  reflection. 

The  wrongs  to  which  he  was  subjected  now  be- 
gan to  yield  the  boy  a  sort  of  bitter  satisfaction. 
A  dim  conviction  settled  upon  him  that  he  was  not 
like  everybody  else,  and  this  was  why  all  were 
down  on  him.  He  observed  that  all  the  people 
were  malicious  and  worn  out  with  ill-will.  They 
lived,  each  deceiving  his  neighbor,  abusing  one  an- 
other, and  drinking.  Everyone  sought  for  mas- 
tery over  his  fellow,  though  over  himself  he  was 
not  master.  Yevsey  saw  no  man  who  was  not  in 
constant  fear  of  something.  The  whole  of  life 
was  filled  with  terror,  and  terror  divided  the  people 
into  fragments. 

The  village  stood  upon  a  low  hill.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  river  stretched  a  marsh.  In  the 
summer  after  a  hot  day  it  exhaled  a  stifling  lilac- 


THE  SPY  15 

colored  mist,  which  breathed  a  putrid  breath  upon 
the  village,  and  sent  upon  the  people  a  swarm  of 
mosquitoes.  The  people,  angry  and  pitiful, 
scratched  themselves  until  blood  came.  From  be- 
hind the  thin  woods  in  the  distance  climbed  a  low- 
ering reddish  moon.  Huge  and  round  it  looked 
through  the  haze  like  a  dull  sinister  eye.  Yevsey 
thought  it  was  threatening  him  with  all  kinds  of 
misery  and  dread.  He  feared  its  dirty  reddish 
face.  When  he  saw  it  over  the  marsh,  he  hid  him- 
self, and  in  his  sleep  he  was  tormented  by  heavy 
dreams.  At  night  bluish,  trembling  lights  strayed 
over  the  marsh,  said  to  be  the  homeless  spirits  of 
sinners.  The  villagers  sighed  over  them  sorrow- 
fully, pitying  them.  But  for  one  another  they 
had  no  pity. 

It  was  possible  for  them,  however,  to  have  lived 
differently,  in  friendship  and  joy.  An  incident 
Yevsey  once  witnessed  proved  this  to  him. 

One  night  the  granary  of  the  rich  muzhik  Vere- 
tennikov  caught  fire.  The  little  boy  ran  into  the 
garden,  and  climbed  up  a  willow  tree  to  look  at 
the  conflagration. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  the  many-winged,  supple 
body  of  a  horrible  smoke-begrimed  bird  with  a 
fiery  jaw  was  circling  in  the  sky.  It  inclined  its  red 
blazing  head  to  the  ground,  greedily  tore  the  straw 
with  its  sharp  fiery  teeth,  gnawed  at  the  wood,  and 
licked  it  with  its  hundred  yellow  tongues..  Its 
smoky  body  playfully  coiled  in  the  black  sky,  fell 


1 6  THE  SPY 

upon  the  village,  crept  along  the  roofs  of  the 
houses,  and  again  raised  itself  aloft  majestically 
and  lightly,  without  removing  its  flaming  red  head 
from  the  ground.  It  snorted,  scattering  sheaves 
of  sparks,  whistling  with  joy  in  its  evil  work,  sing- 
ing, puffing,  and  spreading  its  raging  jaw  wider  and 
wider,  embracing  the  wood  more  and  more  greed- 
ily with  its  red  ribbons  of  flame. 

In  the  presence  of  the  fire  the  people  turned  small 
and  black.  They  sprinkled  water  into  its  jaws, 
thrust  long  poles  at  it,  and  tore  flaming  sheaves 
from  between  its  teeth.  Then  they  trampled  the 
sheaves.  The  people,  too,  coughed,  sniffed,  and 
sneezed,  gasping  for  breath  in  the  greasy  smoke. 
They  shouted  and  roared,  their  voices  blending 
with  the  crackling  and  roaring  of  the  fire.  They 
approached  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  great  bird, 
surrounding  its  red  head  with  a  black  living  ring, 
as  if  tightening  a  noose  about  its  body.  Here  and 
there  the  noose  broke,  but  they  tied  it  again,  and 
crowded  about  more  firmly.  The  noose  strangled 
the  fire,  which  lay  there  savagely.  It  jumped  up, 
and  its  body  swelled,  writhing  like  a  snake,  striving 
to  free  its  head;  but  the  people  held  it  fast  to  the 
ground.  Finally,  enfeebled,  exhausted,  and  sullen 
it  fell  upon  the  neighboring  granaries,  crept  along 
the  gardens,  and  dwindled  away,  shattered  and 
faint. 

11  All  together !  "  shouted  the  villagers,  encour- 
aging one  another. 


THE  SPY  17 

•    "  Water !  "  rang  out  the  women's  voices. 

The  women  formed  a  chain  from  the  fire  to  the 
river,  strangers  and  kinsmen,  friends  and  enemies 
all  in  a  row.  And  the  buckets  of  water  were  rap- 
idly passed  from  hand  to  hand. 

"  Quick,  women!     Quick,  good  women!  " 

It  was  pleasant  and  cheerful  to  look  upon  this 
good,  friendly  life  in  conflict  with  the  fire.  The 
people  emboldened  one  another.  They  spoke 
words  of  praise  for  displays  of  dexterity  and  dis- 
puted in  kindly  jest.  The  shouts  were  free  from 
malice.  In  the  presence  of  the  fire  everybody 
seemed  to  see  his  neighbor  as  good,  and  each  grew 
pleasant  to  the  other.  When  at  last  the  fire  was 
vanquished,  the  villagers  grew  even  jolly.  They 
sang  songs,  laughed,  boasted  of  the  work,  and 
joked.  The  older  people  got  whiskey  to  drink 
away  their  exhaustion,  while  the  young  folk  re- 
mained in  the  streets  amusing  themselves  almost 
until  morning.  And  everything  was  as  good  as  in 
a  dream. 

Yevsey  heard  not  a  single  malicious  shout,  nor 
noticed  a  single  angry  face.  During  the  entire 
time  the  fire  was  burning  no  one  wept  from  pain  or 
abuse,  no  one  roared  with  the  beastly  roar  of  sav- 
age malice,  ready  for  murder. 

The  next  day  Yevsey  said  to  his  uncle : 

"  How  nice  it  was  last  night!  " 

"  Yes,  Orphan,  it  was  nice.  A  little  more,  and 
the  fire  would  have  burned  away  half  the  village." 


1 8  THE  SPY 

"  I  mean  about  the  people,"  explained  the  boy. 
"  How  they  joined  together  in  a  friendly  way.  If 
they  would  live  like  that  all  the  time,  if  there  were 
a  fire  all  the  time !  " 

The  blacksmith  reflected  for  an  instant,  then 
asked  in  surprise : 

"  You  mean  there  should  be  fires  all  the  time?  " 
He  looked  at  Yevsey  sternly,  and  shook  his  finger. 
"  You  wiseacre,  you,  look  out !  Don't  think  such 
sinful  thoughts.  Just  see  him  I  He  finds  pleas- 
ure in  fires  I  " 


CHAPTER  II 

V^/TIEN  Yevsey  completed  the  school  course, 
the  blacksmith  said  to  him : 

"What  shall  we  do  with  you  now?  There's 
nothing  for  you  here.  You  must  go  to  the  city.  I 
have  to  get  bellows  there,  and  I'll  take  you  along, 
Orphan." 

11  Will  you  yourself  take  me?  " 

"  Yes.     Are  you  sorry  to  leave  the  village?  " 

"  No,  but  I  am  sorry  on  account  of  you." 

The  blacksmith  put  a  piece  of  iron  in  the  furn- 
ace and  adjusting  the  coals  with  the  tongs,  said 
thoughtfully : 

"  There's  no  reason  to  be  sorry  on  account  of 
me.  I  am  grown  up.  I  am  the  muzhik  I  ought 
to  be,  like  every  other  muzhik." 

"  You're  better  than  everybody  else,"  Yevsey 
said  in  a  low  voice. 

It  seemed  that  Uncle  Piotr  did  not  hear  the  last 
remark,  for  he  did  not  answer,  but  removed  the 
glowing  iron  from  the  fire,  screwed  up  his  eyes,  and 
began  to  hammer,  scattering  the  red  sparks  all 
about  him.  Then  he  suddenly  stopped,  slowly 
dropped  the  hand  in  which  he  held  the  hammer, 
and  said  smiling: 


20  THE  SPY 

"  I  ought  to  give  you  some  advice  —  how  to 
live  and  all  such  things." 

Yevsey  waited  to  hear  the  advice.  The  black- 
smith, however,  apparently  forgetful  of  his  nephew, 
put  the  iron  back  into  the  fire,  wiped  the  tears  from 
his  cheeks,  and  looked  into  the  furnace.  A  muz- 
hik entered,  bringing  a  cracked  tire.  Yevsey  went 
out  to  go  to  the  ravine,  where  he  crouched  in  the 
bushes  until  sunset,  waiting  for  his  uncle  to  be 
alone;  which  did  not  happen. 

The  day  of  his  departure  from  the  village  was 
effaced  from  the  boy's  memory.  He  recalled  only 
that  when  he  rode  out  into  the  fields,  it  was  dark 
and  the  air  strangely  oppressive.  The  wagon 
jolted  horribly,  and  on  both  sides  rose  black  mo- 
tionless trees.  The  further  they  advanced  the 
wider  the  space  became  and  the  brighter  the  at- 
mosphere. The  uncle  was  sullen  the  whole  way, 
and  reluctantly  gave  brief  and  unintelligible  an- 
swers to  Yevsey's  questions. 

They  rode  an  entire  day,  stopping  over  night  in 
a  little  village.  Yevsey  heard  the  fine  and  pro- 
tracted playing  of  an  accordion,  a  woman  weep- 
ing, and  occasionally  an  angry  voice  crying  out: 
"  Shut  up !  "  and  swearing  abusively. 

The  travelers  continued  on  their  way  the  same 
night.  Two  dogs  accompanied  them,  running 
around  the  wagon  and  whining.  As  they  left  the 
village  a  bittern  boomed  sullenly  and  plaintively 
in  the  forest  to  the  left  of  the  road. 


THE  SPY  21 

"  God  grant  good  luck !  "  mumbled  the  black- 
smith. 

Yevsey  fell  asleep,  and  awoke  when  his  uncle 
lightly  tapped  him  on  his  legs  with  the  butt  end  of 
the  whip. 

"  Look,  Orphan." 

To  the  sleepy  eyes  of  the  boy  the  city  appeared 
like  a  huge  field  of  buckwheat.  Thick  and  vari- 
colored, it  stretched  endlessly,  with  the  golden 
church  steeples  standing  out  like  yellow  pimpinel- 
las,  and  the  dark  bands  of  the  streets  looking  like 
fences  between  the  patches. 

"  Oh,  how  large !  "  said  Yevsey.  After  another 
look,  he  asked  his  uncle  cautiously,  "  Will  you  come 
to  see  me  ?  " 

u  Certainly,  whenever  I  come  to  the  city.  You 
will  begin  to  make  money,  and  I  will  ask  you  to 
give  me  some.  *  Orphan/  I'll  say,  *  give  your  un- 
cle about  three  rubles.'  " 

"  I'll  give  you  all  my  money." 

"  You  mustn't  give  me  all.  You  should  give 
only  as  much  as  you  won't  be  sorry  to  part  with. 
To  give  less  is  shameful;  to  give  more  is  unfair." 

The  city  grew  quickly  and  became  more  and 
more  varied  in  coloring.  It  glittered  green,  red, 
and  golden,  reflecting  the  rays  of  the  sun  from  the 
glass  of  the  countless  windows  and  from  the  gold 
of  the  church  steeples.  It  seemed  to  make  prom- 
ises, kindling  in  the  heart  a  confused  curiosity,  a 
dim  expectation  of  something  unusual.     Kneeling 


22  THE  SPY 

in  the  wagon  with  his  hand  on  his  uncle's  shoulder, 
Yevsey  looked  before  him  while  the  smith. said: 

"  You  live  this  way  —  do  whatever  is  assigned 
to  you,  hold  yourself  aloof,  beware  of  the  bold 
men.  One  bold  man  out  of  ten  succeeds,  and  nine 
go  to  pieces." 

He  spoke  with  indecision,  as  if  he  himself 
doubted  whether  he  was  saying  what  he  ought  to 
say,  and  he  searched  his  thoughts  for  something 
else  more  important.  Yevsey  listened  attentively 
and  gravely,  expecting  to  hear  a  special  warning 
against  the  terrors  and  dangers  of  the  new  life. 
But  the  blacksmith  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  after 
a  pause  continued  more  firmly  and  with  more  as- 
surance, "  Once  they  came  near  giving  me  a  lash- 
ing with  switches  in  the  district  court.  I  was  be- 
trothed then.  I  had  to  get  married.  Neverthe- 
less they  wanted  to  whip  me.  It's  all  the  same  to 
them.  They  don't  care  about  other  people's  af- 
fairs. I  lodged  a  complaint  with  the  governor, 
and  for  three  and  a  half  months  they  kept  me  in 
prison,  not  to  speak  of  the  blows.  I  got  the  worst 
beatings.  I  even  spat  blood.  It's  from  that  time 
that  tears  are  always  in  my  eyes.  One  policeman, 
a  short  reddish  fellow,  always  went  for  my  head." 

"  Uncle,"  said  Yevsey  quietly,  "  don't  speak  of 

it." 

"What  else  shall  I  speak  to  you  about?  "  cried 
Uncle  Piotr  with  a  smile.  "  There  is  nothing 
else." 


THE  SPY  23 

Yevsey's  head  drooped  sadly. 

One  detached  house  after  another  seemed  to 
step  toward  them,  dirty  and  wrapped  in  heavy 
odors,  with  chimneys  sticking  from  their  red  and 
green  roofs,  like  warts.  Bluish-grey  smoke  rose 
from  them  lazily.  Some  chimneys,  monstrously 
tall  and  dirty,  jutted  straight  up  from  the  ground, 
and  emitted  thick  black  clouds  of  smoke.  The 
ground  was  compactly  trodden,  and  seemed  to  be 
steeped  in  black  grease.  Everywhere  heavy  alarm- 
ing sounds  penetrated  the  smoky  atmosphere1. 
Something  growled,  hummed  and  whistled;  iron 
clanged  angrily,  and  some  huge  creature  breathed 
hoarsely  and  brokenly. 

"  When  will  we  get  to  the  place?  "  asked  Yev- 
sey. 

Looking  carefully  in  front  of  him  the  uncle  said: 

"  This  isn't  the  city  yet.  These  are  factories  in 
the  suburb." 

Finally  they  pulled  into  a  broad  street  lined  with 
old  squat  frame  houses  painted  various  colors, 
which  had  a  peaceful,  homelike  appearance.  Es- 
pecially fine  were  the  clean  cheerful  houses  with 
gardens,  which  seemed  to  be  tied  about  with  green 
aprons. 

"  We'll  soon  be  there,"  said  the  blacksmith,  turn- 
ing the  horse  into  a  narrow  side  street.  "  Don't 
be  afraid,  Orphan." 

He  drew  up  at  the  open  gate  of  a  large  house, 
jumped  down,   and  walked  into  the  yard.     The 


24  THE  SPY 

house  was  old  and  bent.  The  joists  protruded 
from  under  the  small  dim  windows.  In  the  large 
dirty  yard  there  were  a  number  of  carriages,  and 
four  muzhiks  talking  loudly  stood  about  a  white 
horse  tapping  it  with  their  hands.  One  of  them, 
a  round,  bald-headed  fellow  with  a  large  yellow 
\beard  and  a  rosy  face,  waved  his  hands  wildly  on 
seeing  Piotr,  and  cried : 

"Oh!" 

They  went  to  a  narrow,  dark  room,  where  they 
sat  down  and  drank  tea.  Uncle  Piotr  spoke  about 
the  village.  The  bald  fellow  laughed  and  shouted 
so  that  the  dishes  rattled  on  the  table.  It  was  close 
in  the  room  and  smelled  of  hot  bread.  Yevsey 
wanted  to  sleep,  and  he  kept  looking  into  the  corner 
where  behind  dirty  curtains  he  could  see  a  wide  bed 
with  several  pillows.  Large  black  flies  buzzed 
about,  knocking  against  his  forehead,  crawling  over 
his  face,  and  tickling  his  perspiring  skin;  but  he 
restrained  himself  from  driving  them  away. 

"  We'll  find  a  place  for  you !  "  the  bald  man 
shouted  to  him,  nodding  his  head  gaily.  "  In  a 
minute!  Natalya,  did  you  call  for  Matveye- 
vich?" 

A  full  woman  with  dark  lashes,  a  small  mouth, 
and  a  high  bust,  answered  calmly  and  clearly: 

"  How  many  times  have  you  asked  me  already?  " 

She  held  her  head  straight  and  proudly,  and 
when  she  moved  her  hands  the  rose-colored  chintz 


THE  SPY  25 

of  her  new  jacket  rustled  sumptuously.  Her  whole 
being  recalled  some  good  dream  or  fairy  tale. 

"  Piotr,  my  friend,  look  at  Natalya.  What  a 
Natalya  !  Droppings  from  the  honey-comb  !  " 
shouted  the  bald  man  deafeningly. 

Uncle  Piotr  laughed  quietly,  as  if  fearing  to 
look  at  the  woman,  who  pushed  a  hot  rye  cake 
filled  with  curds  toward  Yevsey,  and  said : 

"  Eat,  eat  a  lot.  In  the  city  people  must  eat  a 
good  deal." 

A  jar  of  preserves  stood  on  the  table,  honey  in 
a  saucer,  toasted  cracknels  sprinkled  with  anise- 
seed,  sausage,  cucumber,  and  vodka.  All  this 
filled  the  air  with  a  strong  odor.  Yevsey  grew 
faint  from  the  oppressive  sensation  of  over-abund- 
ance, though  he  did  not  dare  to  decline,  and  sub- 
missively chewed  everything  set  before  him. 

"  Eat!  "  cried  the  bald  man,  then  continued  his 
talk  with  Uncle  Piotr.  "  I  tell  you,  it's  luck.  It's 
only  a  week  since  the  horse  crushed  the  little  boy. 
He  went  to  the  tavern  for  boiling  water,  when  sud- 
denly — " 

Another  man  now  made  his  entrance  unnoticed 
by  the  others.  He,  too,  was  bald,  but  small  and 
thin,  with  dark  eyeglasses  on  a  large  nose,  and  a 
long  tuft  of  grey  hair  on  his  chin. 

11  What  is  it,  people?  "  he  asked  in  a  low,  indis- 
tinct voice. 

The  master  jumped  up  from  his  chair,  uttered 


26  THE  SPY 

a  cry,  and  laughed  aloud.  Yevsey  was  suddenly 
seized  with  alarm. 

The  man  addressed  Piotr  and  his  hosts  as  "  Peo- 
ple," by  which  he  separated  himself  from  them. 
He  sat  down  at  some  distance  from  the  table,  then 
moved  to  one  side  away  from  the  blacksmith,  and 
looked  around  moving  his  thin  dry  neck  slowly. 
On  his  head,  a  little  above  his  forehead,  over  his 
right  eye,  was  a  large  bump.  His  little  pointed 
ears  clung  closely  to  his  skull,  as  if  to  hide  them- 
selves in  the  short  fringe  of  his  grey  hair.  He 
produced  the  impression  of  a  quiet,  grey,  seedy, 
person.  Yevsey  unsuccessfully  tried  to  get  a  sur- 
reptitious peep  at  his  eyes  under  the  glasses.  His 
failure  disquieted  him. 

The  host  cried : 

"  Do  you  understand,  Orphan  ?  " 

"  This  is  a  trump,"  remarked  the  man  with  the 
bump.  He  sat  supporting  his  thin  dark  hands  on 
his  sharp  knees,  and  spoke  little.  Occasionally 
Yevsey  heard  the  men  utter  some  peculiar  words. 

At  last  the  newcomer  said :  • 

"  And  so  it  is  settled." 

Uncle  Piotr  moved  heavily  in  his  chair. 

"  Now,  Orphan,  you  have  a  place.  This  is  your 
master."  He  turned  to  the  master.  "  I  want  to 
tell  you,  sir,  that  the  boy  can  read  and  write,  and 
is  not  at  all  a  stupid  fellow.  I  am  not  saying  this 
because  I  can't  find  a  place  for  him,  but  because 
it  is  the  truth.     The  boy  is  even  very  curious  — " 


THE  SPY  27 

"  I  have  no  need  for  curiosity,"  said  the  master 
shaking  his  head. 

11  He's  a  quiet  sort.  They  call  him  Old  Man 
in  the  village  —  that's  the  kind  he  is." 

11  We  shall  see,"  said  the  man  with  the  bump 
on  his  forehead.  He  adjusted  his  glasses,  scruti- 
nized Yevsey's  face  closely,  and  added,  "  My 
name  is  Matvey  Matveyevich." 

Turning  away,  he  took  up  a  glass  of  tea,  which 
he  drank  noiselessly.  Then  he  rose  and  with  a 
silent  nod  walked  out. 

Yevsey  and  his  uncle  now  went  to  the  yard, 
where  they  seated  themselves  in  the  shade  near  the 
stable.  The  blacksmith  spoke  to  Yevsey  cau- 
tiously, as  if  groping  with  his  words  for  something 
unintelligible  to  him. 

"  You'll  surely  have  it  good  with  him.  He's 
a  quiet  little  old  man.  He  has  run  his  course  and 
left  all  sorts  of  sins  behind  him.  Now  he  lives  in 
order  to  eat  a  little  bite,  and  he  grumbles  and  purrs 
like  a  satiated  Tom-cat." 

11  But  isn't  he  a  sorcerer?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"Why?  I  should  think  there  are  no  sorcerers 
in  the  cities."  After  reflecting  a  few  moments,  the 
blacksmith  went  on.  "  Anyway  it's  all  the  same 
to  you.  A  sorcerer  is  a  man,  too.  But  remem^r 
this,  a  city  is  a  dangerous  place.  This  is  how  it 
spoils  people:  the  wife  of  a  man  goes  away  on  a 
pilgrimage,  and  he  immediately  puts  in  her  place 
some  housemaid  or  other,  and  indulges  himself. 


28  THE  SPY 

But  the  old  man  can't  show  you  such  an  example. 
That's  why  I  say  you'll  have  it  good  with  him. 
You  will  live  with  him  as  behind  a  bush,  sitting  and 
looking." 

"  And  when  he  dies?  "  Yevsey  inquired  warily. 

"  That  probably  won't  be  soon.  Smear  your 
head  with  oil  to  keep  your  hair  from  sticking  out." 

About  noon  the  uncle  made  Yevsey  bid  farewell 
to  their  hosts,  and  taking  him  firmly  by  the  hand 
led  him  to  the  city.  They  walked  for  a  long  time. 
It  was  sultry.  Often  they  asked  the  passersby  how 
to  get  to  the  Circle.  Yevsey  regarded  everything 
with  his  owl-like  eyes,  pressing  close  up  to  his 
uncle.  The  doors  of  shops  slammed,  pulleys 
squeaked,  carriages  rattled,  wagons  rumbled  heav- 
ily, traders  shouted,  and  feet  scraped  and  tramped. 
All  these  sounds  jumbled  together  were  tangled  up 
in  the  stifling  dusty  atmosphere.  The  people 
walked  quickly,  and  hurried  across  the  streets  un- 
der the  horses'  noses  as  if  afraid  of  being  too  late 
for  something.  The  bustle  tired  the  boy's  eyes. 
Now  and  then  he  closed  them,  whereupon  he  would 
stumble  and  say  to  his  uncle : 

"Come,  faster!" 

Yevsey  wanted  to  get  to  some  place  in  a  corner 
where  it  was  not  so  stirring,  not  so  noisy  and  hot. 
Finally  they  reached  a  little  open  place  hemmed 
in  by  a  narrow  circle  of  old  houses,  which  seemed 
to  support  one  another  solidly  and  firmly.  In  the 
center  of  the  Circle  was  a  fountain  about  which 


THE  SPY  29 

moist  shadows,  hovered  on  the  soil.     It  was  more 
tranquil  here,  and  the  noise  was  subdued. 

"  Look,"  said  Yevsey,  %i  there  are  only  houses 
and  no  ground  around  them  at  all." 

The  blacksmith  answered  with  a  sigh : 

"  It's  pretty  crowded.  Read  the  signs.  Where 
is  Raspopov's  shop?  " 

They  walked  to  the  center  of  the  Circle,  and 
stopped  at  the  fountain.  There  were  many  signs, 
which  covered  every  house  like  the  motley  patchs 
of  a  beggar's  coat.  When  Yevsey  saw  the  name 
his  uncle  had  mentioned,  a  chill  shiver  ran  through 
his  body,  and  he  examined  it  carefully  without 
saying  anything.  It  was  small  and  eaten  by  rust, 
and  was  placed  on  the  door  of  a  dark  basement. 
On  either  «ide  the  door  there  was  an  area  between 
the  pavement  and  the  house,  which  was  fenced 
in  by  a  low  iron  railing.  The  house,  a  dirty  yel- 
low with  peeling  plaster,  was  narrow  with  four 
stories  and  three  windows  to  each  floor.  It  looked 
blind  as  a  mole,  crafty,  and  uncozy. 

"  Well,"  asked  the  smith,  "  can't  you  see  the 
sign  ?  " 

"  There  it  is,"  said  the  boy,  indicating  the  place 
with  a  nod  of  his  head. 

11  Let's  cross  ourselves  and  go."  * 

They  descended  to  the  door  at  the  bottom  of 
five  stone  steps.  The  blacksmith  raised  his  cap 
from  his  head,  and  looked  cautiously  into  the  shop. 

"  Come  in,"  said  a  clear  voice. 


30  THE  SPY 

The  master,  wearing  a  black  silk  cap  without 
a  visor,  was  sitting  at  a  table  by  the  window 
drinking  tea. 

"  Take  a  chair,  peasant,  and  have  some  tea. 
Boy,   fetch  a  glass  from  the  shelf." 

The  master  pointed  to  the  other  end  of  the 
shop.  Yevsey  looked  in  the  same  direction,  but 
saw  no  boy  there.  The  master  turned  toward 
him. 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter?  Aren't  you  the 
boy  ?  " 

"  He's  not  used  to  it  yet,"  said  Uncle  Piotr 
quietly. 

The   old  man   again  waved  his  hand. 

"  The  second  shelf  on  the  right.  A  master 
must  be  understood  when  he  says  only  half. 
That's  the  rule." 

The  blacksmith  sighed.  Yevsey  groped  for  the 
glass  in  the  dim  light,  and  stumbled  over  a  pile  of 
books  on  the  floor  in  his  haste  to  hand  it  to  the 
master. 

"  Put  it  on  the  table.     And  the  saucer?  " 

"  Oh,  you !  "  exclaimed  Uncle  Piotr.  "  What's 
the  matter  with  you?     Get  the  saucer." 

"  It  will  take  a  long  time  to  teach  him,"  said 
the  old  man  with  an  imposing  look  at  the  black- 
smith. "  Now,  boy,  go  around  the  shop,  and  fix 
the  place  where  everything  stands  in  your  mem- 
ory." 

Yevsey  felt  as  if  something  commanding  had 


THE  SPY  31 

entered  his  body,  which  impelled  him  powerfully 
to  move  as  it  pleased.  He  shrank  together,  drew 
his  head  in  his  shoulders,  and  straining  his  eyes 
began  to  look  around  the  shop,  all  the  time  listening 
to  the  words  of  his  master.  It  was  cool,  dusky, 
and  quiet.  The  noise  of  the  city  entered 
reluctantly,  like  the  muffled  swashing  of  a  stream. 
Narrow  and  long  as  a  grave  the  shop  was  closely 
lined  with  shelves  holding  books  in  compact  rows. 
Large  piles  of  books  cluttered  the  floor,  and  bar- 
ricaded the  rear  wall,  rising  almost  to  the  ceiling. 
Besides  the  books  Yevsey  found  only  a  ladder,  an 
umbrella,  galoshes,  and  a  white  pot  whose  handle 
was  broken  off.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  dust, 
which   probably   accounted    for   the   heavy   odor. 

II  I'm  a  quiet  man.  I  am  all  alone,  and  if  he 
suits  me,  maybe  I  will  make  him  perfectly  happy." 

"  Of  course  it  lies  with  you,"  said  Uncle  Piotr. 

II I  am  fifty-seven  years  old.  I  lived  an  honest 
and  straightforward  life,  and  I  will  not  excuse 
dishonesty.  If  I  notice  any  such  thing  I'll  hand 
him  over  to  the  court.  Nowadays  they  sentence 
minors,  too.  They  have  founded  a  prison  to 
frighten  them  called  the  Junior  Colony  of 
Criminals  —  for  little  thieves,  you  know." 

His  colorless,  drawling  words  enveloped  Yevsey 
tightly,  evoking  a  timorous  desire  to  soothe  the 
old  man  and  please  him. 

"  Now,  good-bve.  The  boy  must  get  at  the 
work." 


32  THE  SPY 

Uncle  Piotr  rose  and  sighed. 

"  Well,  Orphan,  so  you  live  here  now.  Obey 
your  master.  He  won't  want  to  do  you  any  harm. 
Why  should  he?  He  is  going  to  buy  you  city 
clothes.     Now  don't  be  downcast,  will  you?  " 

"  No,"  said  Yevsey. 

"  You  ought  to  say  *  No,  sir,'  "  corrected  the 
master. 

"  No,  sir,"  repeated  Yevsey. 

"  Well,  good-bye,"  said  the  blacksmith  putting 
his  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  and  giving  his 
nephew  a  little  shake  he  walked  out  as  if  suddenly 
grown  alarmed. 

Yevsey  shivered,  oppressed  by  a  chill  sorrow. 
He  went  to  the  door,  and  fixed  his  round  eyes 
questioningly  on  the  yellow  face  of  the  master. 
The  old  man  twirling  the  grey  tuft  on  his  chin 
[looked  down  upon  the  boy.  Yevsey  thought  he 
could  discern  large  dim  black  eyes  behind  the 
glasses.  As  the  two  stood  thus  for  a  few  minutes 
apparently  expecting  something  from  each  other, 
the  boy's  breast  began  to  beat  with  a  vague  terror; 
but  the  old  man  merely  took  a  book  from  a  shelf, 
and  pointed  to  the  cover. 

"  What  number  is  this?  " 

"  1873,"  replied  Yevsey  lowering  his  head. 

"  That's  it." 

The  master  touched  Yevsey's  chin  with  his  dry 
finger. 

"  Look  at  me." 


THE  SPY  33 

The  boy  straightened  his  neck  and  quickly 
mumbled  closing  his  eyes: 

"  Little  uncle,  I  shall  always  obey  you.  I  don't 
need  beatings."  His  eyes  grew  dim,  his  heart  sank 
within  him. 

M  Come  here." 

The  old  man  seated  himself  resting  his  hands  on 
his  knees.  He  removed  his  cap  and  wiped  his 
bald  spot  with  his  handkerchief.  His  spectacles 
slid  to  the  end  of  his  nose,  and  he  looked  over  them 
at  Yevsey.  Now  he  seemed  to  have  two  pairs 
of  eyes.  The  real  eyes  were  small,  immobile, 
and  dark  grey  with  red  lids.  Without  the  glasses 
the  master's  face  looked  thinner,  more  wrinkled, 
and  less  stern.  In  fact  it  wore  an  injured  and 
downcast  expression,  and  there  was  nothing  in  the 
least  formidable  in  his  eyes.  The  bump  over  his 
forehead  got  larger. 

"  Have  you  been  beaten  often?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  often." 

"Who  beat  you?" 

11  The  boys." 

"Oh!" 

The  master  drew  his  glasses  close  to  his  eyes 
and  mumbled  his  lips. 

"  The  boys  are  scrappers  here,  too,"  he  said. 
"  Don't  have  anything  to  do  with  them,  do  you 
hear?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Be  on  your  guard  against  them.     They  are 


34  THE  SPY 

impudent  rascals  and  thieves.  I  want  you  to  know 
I  am  not  going  to  teach  you  anything  bad.  Don't 
be  afraid  of  me.  I  am  a  good  man.  You  ought 
to  get  to  love  me.  You  will  love  me.  You'll  have 
it  very  good  with  me,  you  understand?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  will." 

The  master's  face  assumed  its  former  expression. 
He  rose,  and  taking  Yevsey  by  the  hand  led  him  to 
the  further  end  of  the  shop. 

"  Here's  work  for  you.  You  see  these  books? 
On  every  book  the  date  is  marked.  There  are 
twelve  books  to  each  year.  Arrange  them  in  order. 
How  are  you  going  to  do  it?  " 

Yevsey  thought  a  while,  and  answered  timidly: 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you.  You  can 
read  and  you  ought  to  be  able  to  find  out  by 
yourself.     Go,  get  to  work." 

The  old  man's  dry  even  voice  seemed  to  lash 
Yevsey,  driving  away  the  melancholy  feeling  of 
separation  from  his  uncle  and  replacing  it  with  the 
anxious  desire  to  begin  to  work  quickly.  Restrain- 
ing his  tears  the  boy  rapidly  and  quietly  untied  the 
packages.  Each  time  a  book  dropped  to  the  floor 
with  a  thud  he  started  and  looked  around.  The 
master  was  sitting  at  the  table  writing  with  a  pen 
that  scratched  slightly.  As  the  people  hastened 
past  the  door,  their  feet  flashed  and  their  shadows 
jerked  across  the  shop.  Tears  rolled  from 
Yevsey's  eyes  one  after  the  other.     In  fear  lest 


THE  SPY  35 

they  be  detected  he  hurriedly  wiped  them  from  his 
face  with  dusty  hands,  and  full  of  a  vague  dread 
went  tensely  at  his  work  of  assorting  the  books. 

At  first  it  was  difficult  for  him,  but  in  a  few 
minutes  he  was  already  immersed  in  that  familiar 
state  of  thoughtlessness  and  emptiness  which  took 
such  powerful  hold  of  him  when,  after  beatings 
and  insults,  he  sat  himself  down  alone  in  some 
corner.  His  eye  caught  the  date  and  the  name  of 
the  month,  his  hand  mechanically  arranged  the 
books  in  a  row,  while  he  sat  on  the  floor  swinging 
his  body  regularly.  He  became  more  and  more 
deeply  plunged  in  the  tranquil  state  of  half- 
conscious  negation  of  reality.  As  always  at  such 
times  the  dim  hope  glowed  in  him  of  something 
different,  unlike  what  he  saw  around  him.  Some- 
times the  all-comprehending,  capacious  phrase 
uttered  by  Yashka  dimly  glimmered  in  his 
memory : 

"  It  will  pass  away." 

The  thought  pressed  his  heart  warmly  and  softly 
with  a  promise  of  something  unusual.  The  boy's 
hands  involuntarily  began  to  move  more  quickly, 
and  he  ceased  to  notice  the  lapse  of  time. 

"  You  see,  you  knew  how  to  do  it,"  said  the 
master. 

Yevsey,  who  had  not  heard  the  old  man  approach 
him,  started  from  his  reverie.  Glancing  at  his 
work,  he  asked: 

"  Is  it  all  right?" 


36  THE  SPY 

"  Absolutely.     Do  you  want  tea  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  ought  to  say,  '  No,  thank  you.'  Well, 
keep  on  with  your  work." 

He  walked  away.  Yevsey  looking  after  him 
saw  a  man  carrying  a  cane  enter  the  door.  He 
had  neither  a  beard  nor  mustache,  and  wore  a 
round  hat  shoved  back  on  the  nape  of  his  neck. 
He  seated  himself  at  the  table,  at  the  same  time 
putting  upon  it  some  small  black  and  white  objects. 
When  Yevsey  again  started  to  work,  he  every  once 
in  a  while  heard  abrupt  sounds  from  his  master  and 
the  newcomer. 

"  Castle." 

"  King." 

"  Soon." 

The  confused  noise  of  the  street  penetrated  the 
shop  wearily,  with  strange  words  quacking  in  it, 
like  frogs  in  a  marsh. 

"  What  are  they  doing?  "  thought  the  boy,  and 
sighed.  He  experienced  a  soft  sensation,  that  from 
all  directions  something  unusual  was  coming  upon 
him,  but  not  what  he  timidly  awaited.  The  dust 
settled  upon  his  face,  tickled  his  nose  and  eyes,  and 
set  his  teeth  on  edge.  He  recalled  his  uncle's 
words : 

"  You  will  live  with  him  as  behind  a  bush." 

It  grew  dark. 

"  King  and  checkmate !  "  cried  the  guest  in  a 


THE  SPY  37 

thick  voice.  The  master  clucking  his  tongue 
called  out: 

"  Boy,  close  up  the  shop !  " 

The  old  man  lived  in  two  small  rooms  in  the 
fourth  story  of  the  same  house.  In  the  first  room, 
which  had  one  window,  stood  a  large  chest  and  a 
wardrobe. 

"  This  is  where  you  will  sleep." 

The  two  windows  in  the  second  room  gave  upon 
the  street,  with  a  view  over  an  endless  vista  of 
uneven  roofs  and  rosy  sky.  In  the  corner,  in 
front  of  the  ikons,  flickered  a  little  light  in  a 
blue  glass  lamp.  In  another  corner  stood  a  bed 
covered  with  a  red  blanket.  On  the  walls  hung 
gaudy  portraits  of  the  Czar  and  various  generals. 
The  room  was  close  and  smelt  like  a  church,  but 
it  was  clean. 

Yevsey  remained  at  the  door  looking  at  his 
elderly  master,  who  said: 

"  Mark  the  arrangement  of  everything  here. 
I  want  it  always  to  be  the  same  as  it  is  now." 

Against  the  wall  stood  a  broad  black  sofa,  a 
round  table,  and  about  the  table  chairs  also  black. 
This  corner  had  a  mournful,  sinister  aspect. 

A  tall,  white-faced  woman  with  eyes  like  a 
sheep's  entered  the  room,  and  asked  in  a  low 
singing  voice : 

"Shall  I  serve  supper?" 

"  Bring  it  in,  Rayisa  Petrovna," 


38  THE  SPY 

"A  new  boy?" 

11  Yes,  new.     His  name  is  Yevsey." 

The  woman  walked  out. 

11  Close  the  door/'  ordered  the  old  man.  Yevsey 
obeyed,  and  he  continued  in  a  lower  voice.  "  She 
is  the  landlady.  I  rent  the  rooms  from  her  with 
dinner  and  supper.     You  understand?" 

"  I  understand." 

"  But  you  have  one  master  —  me.  You  under^ 
stand?" 

"  Yes." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  must  listen  only  to  me. 
Open  the  door,  and  go  into  the  kitchen  and 
wash  yourself." 

The  master's  voice  echoed  drily  in  the  boy's 
bosom,  causing  his  alarmed  heart  to  palpitate.  The 
old  man,  it  seemed  to  Yevsey,  was  hiding  something 
dangerous  behind  his  words,  something  of  which 
he  himself  was  afraid. 

While  washing  in  the  kitchen  he  surreptitiously 
tried  to  look  at  the  mistress  of  the  apartment. 
The  woman  was  preparing  the  supper  noiselessly 
but  briskly.  As  she  arranged  plates,  knives, 
and  bread  on  an  ample  tray  her  large  round  face 
seemed  kind.  Her  smoothly  combed  dark  hair; 
her  unwinking  eyes  with  thin  lashes,  and  her  broad 
nose  made  the  boy  think,  "  She  looks  to  be  a  gentle 
person." 

Noticing  that  she,  in  her  turn,  was  looking  at 
him,  the  thin  red  lips  of  her  small  mouth  tightly 


THE  SPY  39 

compressed,  he  grew  confused,  and  spilt  some  water 
on  the  floor. 

"  Wipe  it,"  she  said  without  anger.  "  There's 
a  cloth  under  the  chair." 

When  he  returned,  the  old  man  looked  at  him 
and  asked: 

"What  did  she  tell  you?" 

But  Yevsey  had  no  time  to  answer  before  the 
woman  brought  in  the  tray. 

"  Well,  I'll  go,"  she  said  after  setting  it  on 
the  table. 

"  Very  well,"   replied   the   master. 

She  raised  her  hand  to  smooth  the  hair  over  her 
temples  —  her  fingers  were  long  —  and  left. 

The  old  man  and  the  boy  sat  down  to  their 
supper.  The  master  ate  slowly,  noisily  munching 
his  food  and  at  times  sighing  wearily.  When 
they  began  to  eat  the  finely  chopped  roast  meat, 
he  said: 

"You  see  what  good  food?  I  always  have 
only  good  food." 

After  supper  he  told  Yevsey  to  carry  the  dishes 
into  the  kitchen,  and  showed  him  how  to  light 
the  lamp. 

"  Now,  go  to  sleep.  You  will  find  a  piece  of 
padding  in  the  wardrobe  and  a  pillow  and  a 
blanket.  They  belong  to  you.  To-morrow  I'll 
buy  you  new  clothes,  good  clothes.     Go,  now." 

When  he  was  half  asleep  the  master  came  in 
to  Yevsey. 


40  THE  SPY 

"  Are  you  comfortable?  " 

Though  the  chest  made  a  hard  bed,  Yevsey 
answered : 

"  Yes." 

"  If  it  is  too  hot,  open  the  window." 

The  boy  at  once  opened  the  window,  which 
looked  out  upon  the  roof  of  the  next  house.  He 
counted  the  chimneys.  There  were  four,  all  alike. 
He  looked  at  the  stars  with  the  dim  gaze  of  a 
timid  animal  in  a  cage.  But  the  stars  said  nothing 
to  his  heart.  He  flung  himself  on  the  chest  again, 
drew  the  blanket  over  his  head,  and  closed  his 
eyes  tightly.  He  began  to  feel  stifled,  thrust  his 
head  out,  and  without  opening  his  eyes  listened. 
In  his  master's  room  something  rustled  monoto- 
nously, then  Yevsey  heard  a  dry,  distinct  voice : 

"  Behold,  God  is  mine  helper;  the  Lord  is  with 
them  that  uphold  — " 

Yevsey  realized  that  the  old  man  was  reciting 
the  Psalter;  and  listening  attentively  to  the 
familiar  words  of  King  David,  which,  however, 
he  did  not  comprehend,  the  boy  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  III 

'V'EVSEY'S  life  passed  smoothly  and  evenly. 
He  wanted  to  please  his  master,  even  real- 
ized this  would  be  of  advantage  to  him,  and  he  felt 
he  would  succeed,  though  he  behaved  with  watch- 
ful circumspection  and  no  warmth  in  his  heart  for 
the  old  man.  The  fear  of  people  engendered  in 
him  a  desire  to  suit  them,  a  readiness  for  all  kinds 
of  services,  in  order  to  defend  himself  against  the 
possibility  of  attack.  The  constant  expectation  of 
danger  developed  a  keen  power  of  observation, 
which  still  more  deepened  his  mistrust. 

He  observed  the  strange  life  in  the  house  with- 
out understanding  it.  From  basement  to  roof  peo- 
ple lived  close  packed,  and  every  day,  from  morn- 
ing until  night,  they  crawled  about  in  the  tenement 
like  crabs  in  a  basket.  Here  they  worked  more 
than  in  the  village,  and,  it  seemed,  were  imbued 
with  even  keener  bitterness.  They  lived  rest- 
lessly, noisily,  and  hurriedly,  as  if  to  get  through 
all  the  work  as  soon  as  possible  in  preparation  of  a 
holiday,  which  they  wanted  to  meet  as  free  people, 
washed,  clean,  peaceful,  and  tranquilly  joyous. 
The  heart  of  the  boy  sank  within  him,  and  the 
question  constantly  recurred: 

4* 


42  THE  SPY 

V  "Will  it  pass  away?" 

But  the  holiday  never  came.  The  people  spur- 
red one  another  on,  wrangled,  and  sometimes 
fought.  Scarcely  a  day  passed  on  which  they  did 
not  speak  ill  of  one  another. 

In  the  mornings  the  master  went  down  to  the 
shop,  while  Yevsey  remained  in  the  apartment  to 
put  it  in  order.  This  accomplished,  he  washed 
himself,  went  to  the  tavern  for  boiling  water,  and 
then  returned  to  the  shop,  where  he  drank  the 
morning  tea  with  his  master.  While  breakfast- 
ing the  old  man  almost  invariably  asked  him : 

"Well,  what  now?" 

11  Nothing." 

"  Nothing  is  little." 

Once,  however,  Yevsey  had  a  different  answer. 

"  To-day  the  watchmaker  told  the  furrier's  cook 
that  you  received  stolen  articles." 

Yevsey  said  this  unexpectedly  to  himself,  and 
was  instantly  seized  with  a  tremble  of  fear.  He 
bowed  his  head.  The  old  man  laughed  quietly, 
and  said  in  a  drawling  voice  without  sincerity: 

"  The  scoundrel !  "  His  dark,  dry  lips  quiv- 
ered. "  Thank  you  for  telling  me.  Thank  you  ! 
You  see  how  the  people  don't  love  me." 

From  that  time  Yevsey  began  to  pay  close  at- 
tention to  the  conversation  of  the  tenants,  and 
promptly  repeated  everything  he  heard  to  his  mas- 
ter, speaking  in  a  quiet,  calm  voice  and  looking 
straight  into  his  face.     Several  days  later,  while 


THE  SPY  43 

putting  his  master's  room  into  order,  he  found  a 
crumpled  paper  ruble  on  the  floor,  and  when  at  tea 
the  old  man  asked  him,  "  Well,  what  now  ?  "  Yev- 
sey  replied,  "  Here  I  have  found  a  ruble." 

"  You  found  a  ruble,  did  you?  I  found  a  gold 
piece,"   said  the  master  laughing. 

Another  time  Yevsey  picked  up  a  twenty-kopek 
piece  in  the  entrance  to  the  shop,  which  he  also 
gave  to  the  master.  The  old  man  slid  his  glasses 
to  the  end  of  his  nose,  and  rubbing  the  coin  with 
his  fingers  looked  into  the  boy's  face  for  a  few 
seconds  without  speaking. 

"  According  to  the  law,"  he  said  thoughtfully, 
11  a  third  of  what  you  find,  six  kopeks,  belongs  to 
you."  He  was  silent,  sighed,  and  stuck  the  coin 
into  his  vest  pocket.  "  But  anyway  you're  a 
stupid  boy."     Yevsey  did  not  get  the  six  kopeks. 

Quiet,  unnoticed,  and  when  noticed,  obliging, 
Yevsey  Klimkov  scarcely  ever  drew  the  attention 
of  the  people  to  himself,  though  he  stubbornly  fol- 
lowed them  with  the  broad,  empty  gaze  of  his  owl- 
like eyes,  with  the  look  that  did  not  abide  in  the 
memory  of  those  who  met  it. 

From  the  first  days  the  reticent  quiet  Rayisa  Pe- 
trovna  interested  him  strongly.  Every  evening 
she  put  on  a  dark,  rustling  dress  and  a  black  hat, 
and  sallied  forth.  In  the  morning  when  he  put 
the  rooms  in  order  she  was  still  asleep.  He  saw 
her  only  in  the  evening  before  supper,  and  that 
not  every  day.     Her  life  seemed  mysterious  to 


44  THE  SPY 

him,  and  her  entire  taciturn  being,  her  white  face 
and  stationary  eyes,  roused  in  him  vague  sugges- 
tions of  something  peculiar.  He  persuaded  him- 
self that  she  lived  better  and  knew  more  than 
everybody  else.  A  kindly  feeling  which  he  did 
not  understand  sprang  up  in  his  heart  for  this 
woman.  Every  day  she  appeared  to  him  more 
and  more  beautiful. 

Once  he  awoke  at  daybreak,  and  walked  into 
the  kitchen  for  a  drink.  Suddenly  he  heard  some- 
one entering  the  door  of  the  vestibule.  He  rushed 
to  his  room  in  fright,  lay  down,  and  covered  him- 
self with  the  blanket,  trying  to  press  himself  to 
the  chest  as  closely  as  possible.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  stuck  out  his  ear,  and  in  the  kitchen  heard 
heavy  steps,  the  rustle  of  a  dress,  and  the  voice 
of  Rayisa  Petrovna. 

"  Oh,  oh,  you  — "  she  was  saying. 

Yevsey  rose,  walked  to  the  door  on  tiptoe,  and 
looked  into  the  kitchen.  The  quiet  woman  was 
sitting  at  the  window  taking  off  her  hat.  Her 
face  seemed  whiter  than  ever,  and  tears  streamed 
from  her  eyes.  Her  large  body  swayed,  her  hands 
moved  slowly. 

"  I  know  you !  "  she  said,  shaking  her  head. 
She  rose  to  her  feet,  supporting  herself  on  the  win- 
dow-sill. 

The  bed  in  the  master's  room  creaked.  Yevsey 
quickly  jumped  back  on  his  chest,  lay  down,  and 
wrapped  himself  up. 


THE  SPY  45 

"  They've  done  something  bad  to  her,"  he 
thought,  full  of  keen  pity.  At  the  same  time,  how- 
ever, he  was  inwardly  glad  of  her  tears.  They 
brought  this  woman,  who  lived  a  secret  nocturnal 
existence,  nearer  to  him. 

The  next  moment  someone  seemed  to  be  pass- 
ing by  him  with  sly  steps.  He  raised  his  head, 
and  suddenly  jumped  from  the  chest,  as  if  burned 
by  the  thin  angry  shout: 

"Ugh!     Go  away!  " 

Then  there  was  some  hissing.  The  master  in 
his  nightgown  hastily  came  out  of  the  kitchen, 
stopped,  and  said  to  Yevsey  in  a  whistling  voice: 

"Sleep!    Sleep!    What's  the  matter?    Sleep!" 

The  next  morning  in  the  shop  the  old  man  asked 
him: 

"Were  you  frightened  last  night?" 

"  Yes." 

"  She  was  in  her  cups.  It  happens  to  her  some- 
times." 

Though  the  question  trembled  on  his  lips,  Yev- 
sey did  not  dare  to  ask  what  her  occupation  was. 
Some  minutes  later  the  old  man  asked: 

"Do  you  like  her?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Well,"  said  the  master  sternly,  "  even  if  you 
do,  you  ought  to  know  that  she's  an  extremely 
shrewd  woman.  She  is  silent,  but  bad.  She's  a 
sinner.  Yes,  that's  what  she  is.  Do  you  know 
what  she  does?     She's  a  musician.     She  plays  the 


46  THE  SPY 

piano."  The  old  man  accurately  described  a  piano, 
and  added  didactically,  "  A  person  who  plays  the 
piano  is  called  a  pianist.  And  do  you  know  what 
a  house  of  ill  fame  is?  " 

From  the  talk  of  the  furriers  and  glaziers  in 
the  yard  Yevsey  already  knew  something  about 
disreputable  resorts;  but  desiring  to  learn  more 
he  answered: 

"  I  don't  know." 

The  old  man  gave  him  a  lengthy  explanation  in 
words  very  intelligible  to  Yevsey.  He  spoke  with 
heat,  occasionally  spitting  and  wrinkling  up  his 
face  to  express  his  disgust  of  the  abomination. 
Yevsey  regarded  the  old  man  with  his  watery  eyes, 
and  for  some  reason  did  not  believe  in  his  aver- 
sion. 

"  So  you  see,  every  evening  she  plays  in  a  house 
like  that,  and  depraved  women  dance  with  drunken 
men  to  the  accompaniment  of  her  music.  The 
men  are  all  crooks,  some  of  them,  maybe,  even 
murderers."  Raspopov  sighed  in  exhaustion,  and 
wiped  his  perspiring  face.  "  Don't  trust  her. 
You  understand?  I  tell  you,  she's  a  cunning  wo- 
man, and  she's  mean." 

The  boy  believed  everything  the  master  told 
him  about  the  piano  and  the  house  of  ill  fame, 
but  failed  to  be  impressed  by  a  single  word  re- 
garding the  woman.  In  fact,  everything  the  old 
man  said  of  her  merely  increased  the  cautious,  ever- 
watchful  feeling  of  mistrust  with  which  Yevsey 


THE  SPY  47 

treated  his  master,  and  by  coloring  Rayisa  Pe- 
trovna  with  a  still  deeper  tinge  of  the  unusual, 
made  her  seem  even  more  beautiful  in  his  eyes. 

Another  object  of  Yevsey's  curiosity  besides 
Rayisa  was  Anatol,  apprentice  to  the  glazier,  Ku- 
zin,  a  thin,  flat-nosed  boy  with  ragged  hair,  dirty, 
always  jolly,  and  always  steeped  in  the  odor  of  oil. 
He  had  a  high  ringing  voice,  which  Yevsey  liked 
very  much  to  hear  when  he  shouted : 

"  Wi-i-ndow  pa-anes." 

He  spoke  to  Yevsey  first.  Yevsey  was  sweep- 
ing the  stairway  when  he  suddenly  heard  from  be- 
low the  loud  question: 

"  Say  there,  kid,  what  government  are  you 
from?" 

44  From  this  government,"  answered  Yevsey. 

"  I  am  from  the  government  of  Kostrom.  How 
old  are  you?  " 

"  Thirteen." 

"  I  am,  too.     Come  along  with  me." 

"Where  to?" 

44  To  the  river  to  go  in  bathing." 

"  I  have  to  stay  in  the  shop." 

14  To-day  is  Sunday." 

44  That  doesn't  make  any  difference." 

44  Well,  go  to  the  devil." 

The  glazier  boy  disappeared.  Yevsey  was  not 
offended  by  his  oath. 

Anatol  was  off  the  whole  day  carrying  a  box 
of  glass  about  the  city,  and  usually  returned  home 


48  THE  SPY 

just  as  the  shop  was  being  closed.  Then  almost 
the  entire  evening  his  indefatigable  voice,  his 
laughter,  whistling,  and  singing  would  rise  from 
the  yard.  Everybody  scolded  him,  yet  all  loved 
to  meddle  with  him  and  laugh  at  his  pranks.  Yev- 
sey  was  surprised  at  the  boldness  with  which  the 
ragged,  snub-nosed  boy  behaved  toward  the  grown- 
up folk,  and  he  experienced  a  sense  of  envy  when 
he  saw  the  gold-embroidery  girl  run  about  the 
yard  in  chase  of  the  jolly,  insolent  fellow.  He 
was  powerfully  drawn  to  the  glazier  boy,  for  whom 
he  found  a  place  in  his  vague  fancies  of  a  clean 
and  quiet  life. 

Once,  after  supper,  Yevsey  asked  the  master: 

"  May  I  go  down  in  the  yard?  " 

The  old  man  consented  reluctantly. 

"  Go,  but  don't  stay  long.  Be  sure  not  to  stay 
long." 

Another  time  when  Yevsey  put  the  same  request 
the  master  added: 

11  No  good  will  come  of  your  being  in  the  yard." 

Yevsey  ran  down  the  stairway  quickly,  and  seated 
himself  in  the  shade  to  observe  Anatol.  The  yard 
was  small  and  hemmed  in  on  all  sides  by  the  high 
houses.  The  tenants,  workingmen  and  women, 
and  servants,  sat  resting  on  the  rubbish  heaps 
against  the  walls.  In  the  center  of  the  ring  Ana- 
tol was  giving  a  performance. 

"The  furrier  Zvorykin  going  to  church !"  he 
shouted. 


THE  SPY]  49 

To  his  astonishment  Yevsey  saw  the  little  stout 
furrier  with  hanging  lower  lip  and  eyes  painfully 
screwed  up.  Thrusting  out  his  abdomen  and 
leaning  his  head  to  one  side,  Anatol  struggled  to- 
ward the  gate  in  short  steps,  reluctance  depicted  in 
his  walk.  The  people  sitting  around  laughed 
and  shouted  approval. 

"  Zvorykin  returning  from  the  saloon !  " 

Now  Anatol  swayed  through  the  yard,  his  feet 
dragging  along  feebly,  his  arms  hanging  limp,  a 
dull  look  in  his  wide-open  eyes,  his  mouth  gaping 
hideously  yet  comically.  He  stopped,  tapped 
himself  on  the  chest,  and  said  in  a  wheezy  pitiful 
voice : 

"  God  —  how  satisfied  I  am  with  everything 
and  everybody!  Lord,  how  good  and  pleasant 
everything  is  to  Thy  servant,  Yakov  Ivanich.  But 
the  glazier  Kuzin  is  a  blackguard  —  a  scamp  be- 
fore God,  a  jackass  before  all  the  people  —  that's 
true,  God — " 

The  audience  roared,  but  Yevsey  did  not  laugh. 
He  was  oppressed  by  a  twofold  feeling  of  aston- 
ishment and  envy.  The  desire  to  see  this  boy 
frightened  and  wronged  mingled  with  the  expecta- 
tion of  new  pranks.  He  felt  vexed  and  unpleasant 
because  the  glazier  boy  did  not  show  up  men  who 
inflicted  hurt,  but  merely  funny  men.  Yevsey  sat 
there  with  mouth  agape  and  a  stupid  expression  on 
his  face,  his  owlish  eyes  staring. 

11  Here  goes  glazier  Kuzin  I  " 


So  THE  SPY 

Before  Yevsey  appeared  the  gaunt  red  muzhik 
always  half  drunk,  the  sleeves  of  his  dirty  shirt 
tucked  up,  his  right  hand  thrust  in  the  breast  of  his 
apron,  his  left  hand  deliberately  stroking  his  beard 
—  Kuzin  had  a  reddish  forked  beard.  He  was 
frowning  and  surly  and  moved  slowly,  like  a  heavy 
cart-load.  Looking  sidewise  he  screeched  in  a 
cracked,  hoarse  voice: 

"  You  are  carrying  on  again,  you  heretic?  Am 
I  to  listen  to  this  nonsense  for  long?  You  blasted, 
confounded  — " 

"  Skinflint  Raspopov!  "  announced  Anatol. 

The  smooth,  sharp  little  figure  of  Yevsey's 
master  crept  past  him  moving  his  feet  noiselessly. 
He  worked  his  nose  as  if  smelling  something, 
nodded  his  head  quickly,  and  kept  tugging  at  the 
tuft  on  his  chin  with  his  little  hand.  In  this  char- 
acterization something  loathsome,  pitiful,  and 
laughable  became  quite  apparent  to  Yevsey,  whose 
vexation  rose.  He  felt  sure  his  master  was  not 
such  as  the  young  glazier  represented  him  to  be. 

Next,  Anatol  took  to  mimicking  members  of  the 
audience.  Inexhaustible,  stimulated  by  the  ap- 
plause, he  tinkled  until  late  at  night  like  a  little 
bell,  evoking  kindly,  cheerful  laughter.  Sometimes 
the  man  who  was  touched  would  rush  to  catch  him, 
and  a  noisy  chase  about  the  yard  would  ensue. 

Yevsey  sighed.  Anatol  noticed  him,  and  pulled 
him  by  the  hand  into  the  middle  of  the  yard,  where 
he  introduced  him  to- the  audience. 


THE  SPY  51 

14  Here  he  is  —  sugar  and  soap.  Skinflint  Ras- 
popov's  cousin  morel." 

Turning  the  boy's  little  figure  in  all  directions, 
he  poured  forth  a  flowing  stream  of  strange  comic 
words  about  his  master,  about  Rayisa  Petrovna, 
and  about  Yevsey  himself. 

"  Let  me  go !  "  Yevsey  quietly  demanded,  try- 
ing to  tear  his  hand  from  Anatol's  strong  grip,  in 
the  meantime  listening  attentively  in  the  endeavor 
to  understand  the  hints,  the  filth  of  which  he  felt. 
Whenever  Yevsey  struggled  hard  to  tear  himself 
away,  the  audience,  usually  the  women,  said  lazily 
to  Anatol: 

14  Let  him  go." 

For  some  reason  their  intercession  was  disagree- 
able to  Yevsey.  It  exasperated  Anatol,  too,  who 
began  to  push  and  pinch  his  victim  and  challenge 
him  to  a  fight.  Some  of  the  men  urged  the  boys 
on. 

"Well  —  fight!  See  which  will  do  the  other 
up." 

The  women  objected: 

44  A  fight !  Thanks,  we're  not  interested. 
Don't." 

Yevsey  again  felt  something  unpleasant  in  these 
words. 

Finally  Anatol  scornfully  pushed  Yevsey 
aside. 

44  Oh,  you  kid !  " 

The  next  morning  Yevsey  met  Anatol  outside 


$2  THE  SPY 

the  house  carrying  his  box  of  glass,  and  suddenly, 
without  desiring  to  do  it,  he  said  to  him: 

"Why  do  you  make  fun  of  me?" 

The  glazier  boy  looked  at  him. 

"What  of  it  ?" 

Yevsey  was  unable  to  reply. 

"  Do  you  want  to  fight?  "  asked  Anatol  again. 
11  Come  to  our  shed.  I  will  wait  for  you  until 
evening." 

He  spoke  calmly  and  in  a  business-like  way. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  to  fight,"  replied  Yevsey 
quietly. 

"Then  you  needn't!  I'd  lick  you  anyway," 
said  the  glazier,  and  added  with  assurance,  "  I 
certainly  would." 

Yevsey  sighed.  He  could  not  understand  this 
boy,  but  he  longed  to  understand  him.  So  he 
asked  a  second  time : 

"  I  say,  why  do  you  make  fun  of  me?  " 

Anatol  apparently  felt  awkward.  He  winked 
his  lively  eyes,  smiled,  and  suddenly  shouted  in 
anger : 

"  Go  to  the  devil !  What  are  you  bothering 
me  about?     I'll  give  it  to  you  so " 

Yevsey  quickly  ran  into  the  shop,  and  for  a 
whole  day  felt  the  itching  of  an  undeserved  in- 
sult. This  did  not  put  an  end  to  his  inclination  for 
Anatol,  but  it  forced  him  to  leave  the  yard  when- 
ever Anatol  noticed  him,  and  he  dismissed  the 
glazier  boy  from  the  sphere  of  his  dreams. 


CHAPTER  IV 

COON  after  this  unsuccessful  attempt  to  draw 
near  to  a  human  being  Yevsey  was  one  evening 
awakened  by  talking  in  his  master's  room.  He 
listened  and  thought  he  distinguished  Rayisa's 
voice.  Desiring  to  convince  himself  of  her  pres- 
ence there  he  rose  and  quietly  slipped  over  to  the 
tightly  closed  door,  and  put  his  eyes  to  the  key- 
hole. 

His  sleepy  glance  first  perceived  the  light  of 
the  candle,  which  blinded  him.  Then  he  saw  the 
large  rotund  body  of  the  woman  on  the  black 
sofa.  She  lay  face  upward  entirely  naked.  Her 
hair  was  spread  over  her  breast,  and  her  long 
fingers  slowly  weaved  it  into  a  braid.  The  light 
quivered  on  her  fair  body.  Clean  and  bright,  it 
seemed  like  a  light  cloud  which  rocked  and 
breathed.  It  was  very  beautiful.  She  was  say- 
ing something.  Yevsey  could  not  catch  the  words, 
but  heard  only  the  singing,  tired,  plaintive  voice. 
The  master  was  sitting  in  his  nightgown  upon  a 
chair  by  the  sofa,  and  was  pouring  wine  into  a 
glass  with  a  trembling  hand.  The  tuft  of  grey 
hair  on  his  chin  also  trembled.  He  had  removed 
his  glasses,  and  his  face  was  loathsome. 

53 


54  THE  SPY 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes !  Hm !  What  a  woman  you 
are!" 

Yevsey  moved  away  from  the  door,  lay  down 
on  his  bed,  and  thought: 

"  They  have  gotten  married.'' 

He  pitied  Rayisa  Petrovna  for  having  become 
the  wife  of  a  man  who  spoke  ill  of  her,  and  he 
pitied  her  because  it  must  have  been  very  cold  for 
her  to  lie  naked  on  the  leather  sofa.  An  evil 
thought  flashed  through  his  mind,  which  confirmed 
the  words  of  the  old  man  about  her,  but  Yevsey 
anxiously  drove  it  away. 

The  evening  of  the  next  day  Rayisa  Petrovna 
brought  in  supper  as  always,  and  said  in  her  usual 
voice : 

"  I  am  going." 

The  master,  too,  spoke  to  her  in  his  usual  voice, 
dry  and  careless. 

Several  days  passed  by.  The  relation  between 
the  master  and  Rayisa  did  not  change,  and  Yev- 
sey began  to  think  he  had  seen  the  naked  woman 
in  a  dream.  He  was  very  reluctant  to  believe  his 
master's  words  about  her. 

Once  his  Uncle  Piotr  appeared  unexpectedly 
and,  so  it  seemed  to  Yevsey,  needlessly.  He  had 
grown  grey,  wrinkled,  and  shorter. 

"  I  am  getting  blind,  Orphan,"  he  said  sipping 
tea  from  a  saucer  noisily  and  smiling  with  his  wet 
eyes.  "  I  cannot  work  anymore,  so  I  will  have 
to   go   begging.     Yashka   is  unmanageable.     He 


THE  SPY  55 

wants  to  go  to  the  city,  and  if  I  don't  let  him,  he 
will  run  away.     That's  the  kind  of  a  chap  he  is." 

Everything  the  blacksmith  said  was  wearisome 
and  difficult  to  listen  to.  He  seemed  to  have 
grown  duller.  He  looked  guilty,  and  Yevsey  felt 
awkward  and  ashamed  for  him  in  the  presence  of 
his  master.  When  he  got  ready  to  go,  Yevsey 
quietly  thrust  three  rubles  into  his  hand,  and  saw 
him  out  with  pleasure. 

Though  Yevsey  endeavored  as  before  to  please 
his  master  in  every  way,  he  became  afraid  to  agree 
with  him.  The  bookshop  after  a  time  aroused  a 
dim  suspicion  by  its  resemblance  to  a  tomb  tightly 
packed  with  dead  books.  They  were  all  loose, 
chewed  up,  and  sucked  out,  and  emanated  a 
mouldy,  putrid  odor.  Few  were  sold;  which  did 
not  surprise  Yevsey.  What  stirred  his  curiosity 
was  the  attitude  of  the  master  to  the  purchasers  and 
the  books. 

The  old  man  would  take  a  book  in  his  hand, 
carefully  turn  over  its  musty  pages,  stroke  the 
covers  with  his  dark  fingers,  smile  quietly,  and  nod 
his  head.  He  seemed  to  fondle  the  book  as  though 
it  were  alive,  to  play  with  it  as  with  a  kitten  or  a 
puppy.  While  reading  a  book  he  carried  on  with 
it  a  quiet,  querulous  conversation,  like  Uncle  Piotr 
with  the  furnace-fire.  His  lips  moved  in  good- 
humored  derision,  his  head  kept  nodding,  and 
now  and  then  he  mumbled  and  laughed. 

"  So,    so  —  yes  —  hmm  —  see  —  what's    that  ? 


S6  THE  SPY 

Ha,  ha !  Ah,  the  impudence  —  I  understand,  I 
understand  —  it'll  never  come  about  —  no-o-o  — 
ha,  ha !  " 

These  strange  exclamations  coming  from  the  old 
man  as  if  he  were  disputing  with  somebody  both 
astonished  and  frightened  Yevsey,  and  pointed  to 
the  secret  duplicity  in  his  master's  life. 

"  You  don't  read  books,"  said  the  master  to 
him  once.  "  That's  good.  Books  are  always 
lechery,  the  child  of  a  prostituted  mind.  They 
deal  with  everything,  they  excite  the  imagination, 
and  create  useless  agitation  and  disturbance.  For- 
merly we  used  to  have  good  historical  books,  stor- 
ies of  quiet  people  about  the  past.  But  now  every 
book  wants  to  inspire  you  with  hostility  to  life  and 
to  lay  bare  man,  who  ought  always  to  be  covered 
up  both  in  the  flesh  and  in  the  spirit  in  order  to 
defend  him  from  the  devil,  from  curiosity,  and 
from  the  imagination,  which  destroys  faith.  It's 
only  in  old  age  that  books  do  no  harm  to  a  man, 
when  he  is  guarded  against  their  violence  by  his 
experience." 

Though  Yevsey  did  not  understand  these  talks 
he  remembered  them  well,  and  though  they  met 
with  no  response  in  him,  they  confirmed  his  sense 
of  mystery  —  the  mystery  that  invested  all  human 
life,  as  it  were,  in  a  hostile  envelope. 

When  he  sold  a  book,  the  old  man  regarded  it 
with  regret,  and  fairly  smelled  the  purchaser,  with 
whom  he  talked  in  an  extremely  loud  and  rapid 


THE  SPY  57 

voice.  Sometimes,  however,  he  lowered  his  voice 
to  a  whisper,  when  his  dark  glasses  would  fix  them- 
selves upon  the  face  of  the  customer.  Often  on 
seeing  to  the  door  a  student  who  had  bought  a 
book,  he  followed  him  with  a  smile,  and  nodded 
his  head  queerly.  Once  he  shook  his  finger  at 
the  back  of  a  man  who  had  just  left,  a  short,  hand- 
some fellow  with  fine  black  tendrils  on  a  pale 
face.  The  largest  number  of  customers  were  stu- 
dents and  people  having  a  certain  resemblance  to 
them.  Sometimes  old  men  came.  These  rum- 
maged long  among  the  books,  and  haggled  sharply 
over  the  prices. 

An  almost  daily  visitor  was  a  man  who  wore 
a  chimney-pot  and  on  his  right  hand  a  large  gold 
ring  set  with  a  stone.  He  had  a  broad  pimply 
nose  on  a  stout  flat  shaven  face.  When  Dorime- 
dont  Lukin  played  chess  with  the  master,  he  snuf- 
fled loud  and  tugged  at  his  ear  with  his  left  hand. 
He  often  brought  books  and  paper  parcels,  over 
which  the  master  nodded  his  head  approvingly  and 
smiled  quietly.  He  would  then  hide  them  in  the 
table,  or  in  a  corner  on  a  shelf  in  back  of  him. 
Yevsey  did  not  see  his  master  pay  for  these  books, 
but  he  did  see  him  sell  them. 

One  of  the  students  began  to  visit  the  shop  more 
frequently  than  the  others.  He  was  a  tall,  blue- 
eyed  young  man  with  a  carrot-colored  mustache 
and  a  cap  stuck  back  on  his  neck,  leaving  bare  a 
large  white  forehead.     He  spoke  in  a  thick  voice, 


58  THE  SPY 

laughed  aloud,  and  always  bought  many  old  jour- 
nals. 

Once  the  master  pointed  out  a  book  to  him 
that  Dorimedont  had  brought;  and  while  the  stu- 
dent glanced  through  it,  the  old  man  told  him 
something  in  a  quick  whisper. 

"  Interesting!  "  exclaimed  the  student,  smiling 
amiably.  "  Ah,  you  old  sinner,  aren't  you  afraid, 
eh?" 

The  master  sighed  and  answered: 

"If  you  absolutely  feel  it's  the  truth,  you  ought 
to  help  it  along  in  whatever  little  ways  you  can." 

They  whispered  a  long  time.  Finally  the  stu- 
dent said  aloud: 

"Well,  then,  agreed!  Remember  my  ad- 
dress." 

The  old  man  took  the  address  down  on  a  piece 
of  paper,  and  when  Dorimedont  came  and  asked, 
"Well,  what's  new,  Matvey  Matveyevich  ?  "  the 
master  handed  him  the  address,  and  said  with  a 
smile : 

"  There's  the  new  thing." 

"  S-so — Nikodim  Arkhangelsky,"  read  Dorime- 
dont. "  That's  business.  We'll  look  up  this 
Nikodim." 

Sometime  after,  upon  sitting  down  to  play  chess, 
he  announced  to  the  master: 

"  That  Nikodim  turned  out  to  be  a  fish  with 
plenty  of  roe.  We  found  something  of  pretty 
nearly  everything  in  his  place." 


THE  SPY  59 

"  Return  the  books  to  me,"  said  the  master. 

"  Certainly,"  and  Dorimedont  snuffled. 

The  blue-eyed  student  never  appeared  again. 
The  short  young  man  with  the  black  mustache  also 
vanished  after  the  master  had  given  Dorimedont 
his  address.  All  this  was  strange.  It  fed  the 
boy's  suspicions,  and  indicated  some  mystery  and 
enigma. 

Once,  when  the  master  was  absent  from  the 
shop,  Yevsey,  while  dusting  the  shelves,  saw  the 
books  brought  by  Dorimedont.  They  were  small, 
soiled,  and  ragged.  He  carefully  and  quickly  put 
them  back  in  the  same  order,  scenting  something 
dangerous  in  them.  Books  in  general  did  not 
arouse  his  interest.  He  tried  to  read,  but  never 
succeeded  in  concentrating  his  mind,  which,  al- 
ready burdened  by  a  mass  of  observation,  dwelt 
upon  minutiae.  His  thoughts  drifted  apart,  and 
finally  disappeared  evaporating  like  a  thin  stream 
of  water  upon  a  stone  on  a  hot  day.  When  he 
worked  and  stirred  about  he  was  altogether  inca- 
pable of  thinking;  the  motion,  as  it  were,  tore  the 
cobweb  of  his  ideas.  The  boy  did  his  work  slowly 
and  accurately,  like  an  automaton,  without  put- 
ting anything  of  himself  into  it,  and  scarcely  un- 
derstanding its  meaning. 

When  he  was  free  and  sat  motionless  he  was 
carried  away  by  a  pleasant  sensation  of  flight  in 
a  transparent  mist,  which  enveloped  the  whole  of 
life  and  softened  everything,  changing  the  bois- 


60  THE  SPY 

terous  reality  into  a  quiet,  sweetly  sounding  half- 
slumber. 

When  Yevsey  was  in  this  mood  the  days  passed 
rapidly,  in  a  flight  not  to  be  stayed.  His  external 
life  was  monotonous.  Thought-stirring  events 
happened  rarely,  and  his  brain  insensibly  became 
clogged  with  the  dust  of  the  work-day.  He  sel- 
dom went  about  in  the  city,  for  he  did  not  like  it. 
The  ceaseless  motion  tired  his  eyes,  the  noise  filled 
his  head  with  heavy,  dulling  confusion.  The  end- 
less city  at  first  seemed  like  a  monster  in  a  fairy- 
tale, displaying  a  hundred  greedy  mouths,  bellow- 
ing with  hundreds  of  insatiable  throats.  But  when 
Yevsey  regarded  the  varied  tumult  of  the  street 
life  he  saw  in  it  merely  painful  and  wearisome 
monotony. 

In  the  morning  when  he  tidied  his  master's  room, 
Yevsey  put  his  head  out  of  the  window  for  several 
minutes,  and  looked  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
deep,  narrow  street.  Everywhere  he  saw  the  same 
people,  and  already  knew  what  each  of  them  would 
be  doing  in  an  hour  or  the  next  day.  The  cab- 
men drove  in  the  same  indolent  fashion,  and  sat 
on  the  box  each  like  the  other;  the  shop  boys,  all 
of  whom  he  knew,  were  unpleasant.  Their  inso- 
lence was  a  source  of  danger.  Every  man  seemed 
chained  to  his  business  like  a  dog  to  his  kennel. 
Occasionally  something  new  flashed  by,  or  whis- 
pered to  him,  but  it  was  difficult  for  him  to  see  and 


THE  SPY  6 1 

understand  it  in  the  thick  mass  of  all  that  was  fa- 
miliar, ordinary,  and  unpleasant. 

Even  the  churches  in  the  city  did  not  please 
him.  They  were  not  cosy,  nor  bright,  but  close 
and  penetrated  by  extremely  powerful  odors  of 
incense,  oil,  and  sweat.  Yevsey  could  not  bear 
strong  smells.  They  made  his  head  turn,  and 
filled  him  with  confused  anxious  desires. 

Sometimes  on  a  holiday  the  master  closed  the 
shop,  and  took  Yevsey  through  the  city.  They 
walked  long  and  slowly.  The  old  man  pointed  out 
the  houses  of  the  rich  and  eminent  people,  and  told 
of  their  lives.  His  recitals  were  replete  with  ac- 
counts of  women  who  ran  away  from  their  hus- 
bands, of  dead  people,  and  of  funerals.  He  talked 
about  them  in  a  dry  solemn  voice,  criticizing  and 
condemning  everything.  He  grew  animated  only 
when  telling  how  and  from  what  this  or  that  man 
died.  In  his  opinion,  apparently,  matters  of  dis- 
ease and  death  were  the  most  edifying  and  interest- 
ing of  earthly  subjects. 

At  the  end  of  every  walk  he  treated  Yevsey  to 
tea  in  a  tavern,  where  musical  machines  played. 
Here  everybody  knew  the  old  man,  and  behaved 
toward  him  with  timid  respect.  Yevsey  grown 
tired,  his  brain  dizzied  by  the  cloud  of  heavy  odors, 
would  fall  into  drowsy  silence  under  the  rattle  and 
din  of  the  music. 

Once,  however,  the  master  took  him  to  a  house 


62  THE  SPY 

which  contained  numerous  articles  of  gold  and 
silver,  marvellous  weapons,  and  garments  of  silk 
brocade.  Suddenly  the  mother's  forgotten  tales 
began  to  beat  in  the  boy's  breast,  and  a  winged 
hope  trembled  in  his  heart.  He  walked  silently 
through  the  rooms  for  a  long  time,  disconcertedly 
blinking  his  eyes,  which  burned  greedily. 

When  they  returned  home  he  asked  the  master : 

"Whose  are  they?" 

"  They  are  public  property  —  the  Czar's,"  the 
old  man  explained  impressively. 

The  boy  put  more  questions. 

"  Who  wore  such  coats  and  sabres  ?  " 

"  Czars,  boyars,  and  various  imperial  persons." 

11  There  are  no  such  people  to-day?  " 

"  How  so?  Of  course  there  are.  It  would  be 
impossible  to  be  without  them.  Only  now  they 
dress  differently." 

"Why  differently?" 

"  More  cheaply.  Formerly  Russia  was  richer. 
But  now  it  has  been  robbed  by  various  foreign  peo- 
ple, Jews,  Poles,  and  Germans." 

Raspopov  talked  for  a  long  time  about  how 
nobody  loved  Russia,  how  all  robbed  it,  and  wished 
it  every  kind  of  harm.  When  he  spoke  much  Yev- 
sey  ceased  to  believe  him  or  understand  him. 
Nevertheless  he  asked: 

"  Am  I  an  imperial  person,  too  ?  " 

"  In  a  sense.  In  our  country  all  are  imperial 
people,  all  are  subjects  of  the  Czar.     The  whole 


THE  SPY  63 

earth  is  God's,  and  the  whole  of  Russia  is  the 
Czar's." 

Before  Yevsey's  eyes  handsome,  stately  person- 
ages in  glittering  garb  circled  in  a  bright,  many- 
colored  round  dance.  They  belonged  to  another 
fabulous  life,  which  remained  with  him  after  he 
had  lain  down  to  sleep.  He  saw  himself  in  this 
life  clad  in  a  sky-blue  robe  embroidered  with  gold, 
with  red  boots  of  Morocco  leather  on  his  feet. 
Rayisa  was  there,  too,  in  brocade  and  adorned  with 
precious  gems. 

"  So  it  will  pass  away,"  he  thought. 

To-day  this  thought  gave  rise  not  to  hope  in 
a  different  future  but  to  quiet  regret  for  the  past. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  door  he  heard  the  dry 
even  voice  of  his  master: 

"  Except  the  Lord  build  the  house,  they  labor 
in  vain — " 


CHAPTER  V 

{~\NE  day  after  closing  the  shop  Yevsey  and  his 
master  went  to  the  yard  where  they  were  met 
by  an  anxious  ringing  shout.  It  came  from  Ana- 
tol. 

"  I  won't  do  it  again,  dear  uncle,  never!  " 

Yevsey  started,  and  instinctively  exclaimed  in 
quiet  triumph: 

"Aha!" 

It  was  pleasant  to  hear  the  shouts  of  fear  and 
pain  coming  from  the  breast  of  the  cheerful  boy, 
who  was  everybody's  favorite. 

M  May  I  stay  here  in  the  yard?  "  Yevsey  asked 
the  master. 

"  We  must  get  our  supper.  But  I'll  stay  here, 
too,  and  see  how  they  punish  a  rascally  good-for- 
nothing." 

The  people  had  gathered  at  the  door  of  the 
brick  shed  behind  the  stairway.  The  sound  of 
heavy  blows  and  the  wailing  voice  of  Anatol  issued 
from  the  shed. 

"Little  uncle,  I  didn't  do  it.  Oh,  God!  I 
won't  do  it,  I  won't!     Stop,  for  Christ's  sake!  " 

"  That's  right !  Give  it  to  him !  "  said  watch- 
maker Yakubov,  lighting  a  cigarette. 

64 


THE  SPY  6s 

The  squint-eyed  embroiderer  Zina  upheld  the 
tall,  yellow-faced  watchmaker. 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  have  peace  after  this.  You 
couldn't  have  a  single  quiet  moment  in  the  yard." 

Raspopov  turned  to  Yevsey,  and  said: 

"  They  say  he's  a  wonder  at  imitating  people." 

"  Of  course,"  rejoined  the  furrier's  cook. 
"  Such  a  little  devil !  He  makes  sport  of  every- 
body." 

A  dull  scraping  sound  came  from  the  shed,  as  if 
a  sack  filled  with  something  soft  were  being  drag- 
ged over  the  old  boards  of  the  floor.  At  the  same 
time  the  people  heard  the  panting,  hoarse  voice  of 
Kuzin  and  Anatol's  cries,  which  now  grew  feeb- 
ler and  less  frequent. 

"  Forgive  me !  Oh !  Help  me  —  I  won't  do 
it  again  —  Oh,  God !  " 

His  words  became  indistinct  and  flowed  together 
into  a  thick  choking  groan.  Yevsey  trembled,  re- 
membering the  pain  of  the  beatings  he  used  to  re- 
ceive. The  talk  of  the  onlookers  stirred  a 
confused  feeling  in  him.  It  was  fearful  to  stand 
among  people  who  only  the  day  before  had  will- 
ingly and  gaily  taken  delight  in  the  lively  little  fel- 
low, and  who  now  looked  on  with  pleasure  while  he 
was  being  beaten.  At  this  moment  these  half-sick 
people,  surly  and  worn  out  with  work,  seemed 
more  comprehensible  to  him.  He  believed  that 
now  none  of  them  shammed,  but  were  sincere  in 
the  curiosity  with  which  they  witnessed  the  torture 


66  THE  SPY 

of  a  human  being.  He  felt  a  little  sorry  for  Ana- 
tol,  yet  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  his  groans.  The 
thought  passed  through  his  mind  that  now  he 
would  become  quieter  and  more  companionable. 

Suddenly  Nikolay  the  furrier  appeared,  a  short 
black  curly-headed  man  with  long  arms.  As  al- 
ways daring  and  respecting  nobody,  he  thrust  the 
people  aside,  walked  into  the  shed,  and  from  there 
his  coarse  voice  was  heard  crying  out  twice : 

"Stop!     Getaway!" 

Everybody  suddenly  moved  back  from  the  door. 
Kuzin  bolted  out  of  the  shed,  seated  himself  on 
the  ground,  clutched  his  head  with  both  hands, 
and  opening  his  eyes  wide,  bawled  hoarsely: 

14  Police !  " 

"  Let's  get  away  from  evil,  Yevsey,"  said  the 
master  withdrawing  to  one  side. 

The  boy  retreated  to  a  corner  by  the  stairway, 
and  stood  there  looking  on. 

Nikolay  came  out  of  the  shed  with  the  little 
trampled  body  of  the  glazier's  boy  hanging  limply 
over  his  arm.     The  furrier  laid  him  on  the  ground 
then  he  straightened  himself  and  shouted: 

"  Water,  women,  you  rotten  carrion !  " 

Zina  and  the  cook  ran  off  for  water. 

Kuzin  lolling  his  head  back  snorted  dully. 

"Murder!     Police!" 

Nikolay  turned  to  him,  and  gave  him  a  kick 
on  the  breast  which  laid  him  flat  on  his  back. 

"  You  dirty  dogs !  "  he  shouted,  the  whites  of 


THE  SPY  67 

his  black  eyes  flashing.  "  You  dirty  dogs !  A 
child  is  being  killed,  and  it's  a  show  to  you !  I'll 
smash  every  one  of  your  ugly  mugs !  " 

Oaths  from  all  sides  answered  him,  but  nobody 
dared  to  approach  him. 

"  Let's  go,"  said  the  master,  taking  Yevsey  by 
the  hand. 

As  they  walked  away  they  saw  Kuzin  run  noise- 
lessly in  a  stooping  position  to  the  gates. 

"  To  call  the  police,"  the  master  explained  to 
Yevsey. 

When  Yevsey  was  alone  he  felt  that  his  jeal- 
ousy of  Anatol  had  left  him.  He  strained  his 
slow  mind  to  explain  to  himself  what  he  had  seen. 
It  merely  seemed  that  the  people  liked  Anatol,  who 
amused  them.  In  reality  it  was  not  so.  All  peo- 
ple enjoyed  fighting,  enjoyed  looking  on  while 
others  fought,  enjoyed  being  cruel.  Nikolay  had 
interceded  for  Anatol  because  he  liked  to  beat 
Kuzin,  and  actually  did  beat  him  on  almost  every 
holiday.  Very  bold  and  strong  he  could  lick  any 
man  in  the  house.  In  his  turn  he  was  beaten  by 
the  police.  So  to  sum  up,  whether  you  are  quiet 
or  daring,  you'll  be  beaten  and  insulted  all  the 
same. 

Several  days  passed.  The  tenants  talking  in 
the  yard,  said  that  the  glazier  boy,  who  had  been 
taken  to  the  hospital,  had  gone  insane.  Then 
Yevsey  remembered  how  the  boy's  eyes  had  burned 
when  he  gave  his  performances,  how  vehement  his 


68  THE  SPY 

gestures  and  motions  had  been,  and  how  quickly 
the  expression  of  his  face  had  changed.  He 
thought  with  dread  that  perhaps  Anatol  had  al- 
ways been  insane.  He  soon  forgot  the  glazier 
boy. 


CHAPTER  VI 

TN  the  rainy  nights  of  autumn  short  broken 
sounds  came  from  the  roof  under  Yevsey's 
window.  They  disquieted  him  and  prevented  him 
from  sleeping.  On  one  such  night  he  heard  the 
angry  exclamations  of  his  master: 

"  You  vile  woman !  " 

Rayisa  Petrovna  answered  as  always  in  a  low 
singing  voice : 

"  I  cannot  permit  you,  Matvey  Matveyevich." 

"  You  low  creature!  Look  at  the  money  I  am 
paying  you !  " 

The  door  to  the  master's  room  was  open,  and 
the  voices  came  in  clearly  to  Yevsey.  The  fine 
rain  sang  a  tearful  song  outside  the  window.  The 
wind  crept  over  the  roof,  panting  like  a  large 
homeless  bird  fatigued  by  the  bad  weather  and 
softly  flapping  its  wet  wings  against  the  panes. 
The  boy  sat  up  in  bed,  put  his  hands  around  his 
knees,  and  listened  shivering. 

"  Give  me  back  the  twenty-five  rubles,  you 
thief !" 

"  I  do  not  deny  it.  Dorimedont  Lukin  gave 
me  the  money." 

M  Aha  !     You  see,  you  hussy !  " 

69 


70  THE  SPY 

"  No,  permit  me  —  when  you  asked  me  to  spy 
on  the  man  — " 

11  Hush!     What  are  you  screaming  for?  " 

Now  the  door  was  closed,  but  even  through  the 
wall  Yevsey  could  hear  almost  everything  that 
was  said. 

"  Remember,  you  vile  woman,  you,  that  you 
are  in  my  hands,"  said  the  master,  rapping  his 
fingers  on  the  table.  "  And  if  I  notice  that  you've 
struck  up  relations  with  Dorimedont  — " 

The  woman's  voice  was  warm  and  flexible  like 
the  supple  movements  of  a  kitten,  and  it  stole  in 
softly,  coiled  around  the  old  man's  malicious  words, 
wiping  them  from  Yevsey's  memory. 

The  woman  must  be  right.  Her  composure 
and  the  master's  entire  relation  to  her  convinced 
the  boy  that  she  was.  Yevsey  was  now  in  his  fif- 
teenth year,  and  his  inclination  for  this  gentle  and 
beautiful  woman  began  to  be  marked  by  a  pleas- 
ant sense  of  agitation.  Since  he  met  Rayisa  very 
rarely  and  for  only  a  minute  at  a  time,  he  always 
looked  into  her  face  with  a  secret  feeling  of  bash- 
ful joy.  Her  kindly  way  of  speaking  to  him 
caused  a  grateful  tumult  in  his  breast,  and  drew 
him  to  her  more  and  more  powerfully. 

While  still  in  the  village  he  had  learned  the 
hard  truth  of  the  relation  between  man  and  wo- 
man. The  city  bespattered  this  truth  with  mud, 
but  it  did  not  sully  the  boy  himself.  His  being 
a  timid  nature,  he  did  not  dare  to  believe  what  was 


THE  SPY  71 

said  about  women,  and  such  talk  instead  of  excit- 
ing any  feeling  of  temptation  aroused  painful  aver- 
sion. Now,  as  he  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  Yevsey 
remembered  Rayisa's  amiable  smile,  her  kind 
words;  and  carried  away  by  the  thought  of  them 
he  had  no  time  to  lie  down  before  the  door  to  the 
master's  room  opened,  and  she  stood  before  him, 
half  dressed,  with  loose  hair,  her  hand  pressed  to 
her  breast.  He  grew  frightened  and  faint.  The 
woman  wanted  to  open  the  door  again  to  the  old 
man's  room  and  had  already  put  out  her  hand,  but 
suddenly  smiling  she  withdrew  it  and  shook  a 
threatening  finger  at  Yevsey.  Then  she  walked 
into  her  room.  Yevsey  fell  asleep  with  a  smile. 
In  the  morning  as  he  was  sweeping  the  kitchen 
floor  he  saw  Rayisa  at  the  door  of  her  room.  He 
straightened  himself  up  before  her  with  the  broom 
in  his  hands. 

II  Good  morning,"  she  said.  "  Will  you  take 
coffee  with  me?  " 

Rejoiced  and  embarrassed,  the  boy  replied: 

II I  haven't  washed  yet.     One  minute." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  was  sitting  at  the  table  in 
her  room,  seeing  nothing  but  the  fair  face  with 
the  dark  brows,  and  the  good,  moist  eyes  with  the 
smile  in  them. 

"  Do  you  like  me?  "  she  asked. 

11  Yes." 

"Why?" 

"  You  are  good  and  beautiful." 


72  THE  SPY 

He  answered  as  in  a  dream.  It  was  strange  to 
hear  her  questions.  Her  eyes  fixed  upon  him 
vanquished  him.  They  must  know  everything  that 
went  on  in  his  soul. 

"And  do  you  like  Matvey  Matveyevich? " 
Rayisa  asked  in  a  slow  undertone. 

11  No,"  Yevsey  answered  simply. 

"  Is  that  so?  He  loves  you.  He  told  me  so 
himself." 

"  No,"  rejoined  the  boy. 

Rayisa  raised  her  brows,  moved  a  little  nearer 
to  him,  and  asked: 

11  Don't  you  believe  me?  " 

"  I  believe  you,  but  I  don't  believe  my  master, 
not  a  bit." 

"Why?  Why?"  she  asked  in  a  quick  whis- 
per, moving  still  nearer  to  him.  The  warm  gleam 
of  her  look  penetrated  the  boy's  heart,  and  stirred 
within  him  little  thoughts  never  yet  expressed  to 
anybody.  He  quickly  uttered  them  to  this  wo- 
man. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  him.  I  am  afraid  of  every- 
body except  you." 

"  Why  are  you  afraid?  " 

"  You  know," 

"What  do  I  know?" 

"  You,  too,  are  wronged,  not  by  one  master.  I 
saw  you  cry.  You  were  not  crying  then  because 
you  had  been  drinking.  I  understand.  I  under- 
stand much.     Only  I  do  not  understand  everything 


THE  SPY  73 

together.  I  see  everything  separately  in  its  tini- 
est details,  but  side  by  side  with  them  something 
different,  not  even  resembling  them.  I  understand 
this,  too.  But  what  is  it  all  for?  One  thing  is 
at  variance  with  the  other,  and  they  do  not  go  to- 
gether. There  is  one  kind  of  life  and  another 
besides." 

"What  are  you  talking  about ?"  Rayisa  asked 
in  amazement. 

"  That's  true." 

For  several  moments  they  looked  at  each  other 
in  silence.  The  boy's  heart  beat  quickly.  His 
cheeks  grew  red  with  embarrassment. 

"Well,  now,  go,"  said  Rayisa  quietly  arising. 
"  Go,  or  else  he  will  ask  you  why  you  stayed  away 
so  long.  Don't  tell  him  you  were  with  me.  You 
won't,  will  you  ?  " 

Yevsey  walked  away  filled  with  the  tender  sound 
of  the  singing  voice,  and  warmed  by  the  sympa- 
thetic look.  The  woman's  words  rang  in  his 
memory  enveloping  his  heart  in  quiet  joy. 

That  day  was  strangely  long.  Over  the  roofs 
of  the  houses  and  the  Circle  hung  a  grey  cloud. 
The  day,  weary  and  dull,  seemed  to  have  become 
entangled  in  its  grey  mass,  and,  like  the  cloud,  to 
have  halted  over  the  city.  After  dinner  two  cus- 
tomers entered  the  shop,  one  a  stooping  lean  man 
with  a  pretty,  grizzled  mustache,  the  other  a  man 
with  a  red  beard  and  spectacles.  Both  pottered 
about  among  the  books  long  and  minutely.     The 


74  THE  SPY 

lean  man  kept  whistling  softly  through  his  quiver- 
ing mustache,  while  the  red-bearded  man  spoke 
with  the  master. 

Yevsey  knew  beforehand  just  what  the  master 
would  say  and  how  he  would  say  it.  The  boy 
was  bored.  He  was  impatient  for  the  evening»to 
come,  and  he  tried  to  relieve  the  tedium  by  listen- 
ing to  the  words  of  the  old  man  Raspopov,  and 
verifying  his  conjectures  while  he  arranged  in  a 
row  the  books  the  customers  had  selected. 

"You  are  buying  these  books  for  a  library?" 
the  old  man  inquired  affably. 

"  For  the  library  of  the  Teachers'  Association," 
replied  the  red-bearded  man.     "  Why?  " 

"  Now  he'll  praise  them  up,"  thought  Yevsey, 
and  he  was  not  mistaken. 

"  You  show  extremely  good  judgment  in  your 
choice.  It  is  pleasant  to  see  a  correct  estimate  of 
books." 

"Pleasant?" 

"  Now  he'll  smile,"  thought  Yevsey. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  the  old  man,  smiling  gra- 
ciously. "  You  get  used  to  these  books,  so  that 
you  get  to  love  them.  You  see  they  aren't  dead 
wood,  but  products  of  the  mind.  So  when  a  cus- 
tomer also  respects  books,  it  is  pleasant.  Our 
average  customer  is  a  comical  fellow.  He  comes 
and  asks,  '  Have  you  any  interesting  books  ?  '  It's 
all  the  same  to  him.     He  seeks  amusement,  play, 


THE  SPY  75 

but  no  benefit.  But  occasionally  someone  will  sud- 
denly ask  for  a  prohibited  book." 

"How's  that?  Prohibited?"  asked  the  man 
screwing  up  his  small  eyes. 

"  Prohibited  from  libraries  —  published  abroad, 
or  secretly  in  Russia." 

"  Are  such  books  for  sale?  " 

"  Now  he  will  speak  real  low."  Again  Yev- 
sey  was  not  mistaken. 

Fixing  his  glasses  upon  the  face  of  the  red- 
bearded  man,  the  master  lowered  his  voice  almost 
to  a  whisper. 

"Why  not?  Sometimes  you  buy  a  whole  li- 
brary, and  you  come  across  everything  there,  every- 
thing." 

"  Have  you  such  books  now?  " 

11  Several." 

"  Let  me  see  them,  please," 

u  Only  I  must  ask  you  not  to  say  anything  about 
them.  You  see  it's  not  for  the  sake  of  profit,  but 
as  a  courtesy.  One  likes  to  do  favors  now  and 
then." 

The  stooping  man  stopped  whistling,  adjusted 
his  spectacles,  and  looked  attentively  at  the  old 
man. 

To-day  the  master  was  utterly  loathsome  to 
Yevsey,  who  kept  looking  at  him  with  cold,  gloomy 
malice.  And  now  when  Raspopov  went  over  to 
the  corner  of  the  shop  to  show  the  red-bearded 


76  THE  SPY 

man  some  books  there,  the  boy  suddenly  and  quite 
involuntarily  said  in  a  whisper  to  the  stooping  cus- 
tomer: 

14  Don't  buy  those  books." 

Yevsey  trembled  with  fright  the  moment  he 
had  spoken.  The  man  raised  his  glasses,  and 
peered  into  the  boy's  face  with  his  bright  eyes. 

"Why?" 

With  a  great  effort  Yevsey  answered  after  a 
pause : 

11 1  don't  know." 

The  customer  readjusted  his  glasses,  moved 
away  from  him,  and  began  to  whistle  louder, 
looking  sidewise  at  the  old  man.  Then  he  raised 
his  hand,  which  made  him  straighter  and  taller, 
stroked  his  grey  mustache,  and  without  haste 
walked  up  to  his  companion,  from  whom  he  took 
the  book.  He  looked  it  over,  and  dropped  it  on 
the  table.  Yevsey  followed  his  movements  ex- 
pecting some  calamity  to  befall  himself.  But  the 
stooping  man  merely  touched  his  companion's  arm, 
and  said  simply  and  calmly: 

"  Well,  let's  go." 

"  But  the  books?  "  exclaimed  the  other. 

"  Let's  go.     I  won't  buy  any  books  here." 

The  red-bearded  man  looked  at  him,  then  at 
the  master,  his  small  eyes  winking  rapidly.  Then 
he  walked  to  the  door,  and  out  into  the  street. 

"  You  don't  want  the  books?  "  demanded  Ras- 
popov. 


THE  SPY  77 

Yevsey  realized  by  his  tone  that  the  old  man 
was  surprised. 

"  I  don't,"  answered  the  customer,  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  face  of  the  master. 

Raspopov  shrank.  He  went  to  his  chair,  and 
suddenly  said  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  in  an  un- 
naturally loud  voice,  which  was  new  to  Yevsey : 

"  As  you  please,  of  course.  Still  —  excuse  me, 
I  don't  understand." 

"What  don't  you  understand?"  asked  the 
stooping  man,  smiling. 

"  You  looked  through  the  books  for  two  hours 
or  more,  agreed  on  a  price,  and  suddenly  — 
why?  "  cried  the  old  man  in  excitement. 

"  Well,  because  I  recollected  your  disgusting 
face.  You  haven't  given  up  the  ghost  yet? 
What  a  pity!  " 

The  stooping  man  pronounced  his  words  slowly, 
not  loud,  and  precisely.  He  left  the  shop  delib- 
erately, with  a  heavy  tread. 

For  a  minute  the  old  man  looked  after  him, 
then  tore  himself  from  where  he  was  standing,  and 
advanced  upon  Yevsey  with  short  steps. 

"  Follow  him,  find  out  where  he  lives,"  he  said 
in  a  rapid  whisper,  clutching  the  boy's  shoulder. 
"  Go !  Don't  let  him  see  you !  You  understand? 
Quick!" 

Yevsey  swayed  from  side  to  side,  and  would 
have  fallen,  had  the  old  man  not  held  him  firmly 
on  his  feet.     He  felt  a  void  in  his  breast,  and  his 


78  THE  SPY 

master's  words  crackled  there  drily  like  peas  in  a 
rattle. 

"What  are  you  trembling  about,  you  donkey? 
I  tell  you  — " 

When  Yevsey  felt  his  master's  hand  release  his 
shoulder,  he  ran  to  the  door. 

"  Stop,  you  fool !  "  Yevsey  stood  still. 
"Where  are  you  going?  Why,  you  won't  be 
able  —  oh,  my  God !     Get  out  of  my  sight !  " 

Yevsey  darted  into  a  corner.  It  was  the  first 
time  he  had  seen  his  master  so  violent.  He  real- 
ized that  his  annoyance  was  tinged  with  much  fear, 
a  feeling  very  familiar  to  himself;  and  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  his  own  soul  was  desolate 
with  fear,  it  pleased  him  to  see  Raspopov's  alarm. 

The  little  dusty  old  man  threw  himself  about  in 
the  shop  like  a  rat  in  a  trap.  He  ran  to  the  door, 
thrust  his  head  into  the  street,  stretched  his  neck 
out,  and  again  turned  back  into  the  shop.  His 
hands  groped  over  his  body  impotently,  and  he 
mumbled  and  hissed,  shaking  his  head  till  his 
glasses  jumped  from  his  nose. 

"Umm,  well,  well- — the  dirty  blackguard  — 
the  idea  !  The  dirty  blackguard !  I'm  alive  — 
alive !  "  Several  minutes  later  he  shouted  to  Yev- 
sey.    "  Close  the  shop !  " 

On  entering  his  room  the  old  man  crossed  him- 
self. He  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  flung  himself 
on  the  black  sofa.  Usually  so  sleek  and  smooth, 
he   was   now   all   ruffled.     His    face   had  grown 


THE  SPY  79 

wrinkled,  his  clothes  had  suddenly  become  too 
large  for  him,  and  hung  in  folds  from  his  agitated 
body. 

"  Tell  Rayisa  to  give  me  some  peppered  brandy, 
a  large  glassful."  When  Yevsey  brought  the 
brandy  the  master  rose,  drank  it  down  in  one  gulp, 
and  opening  his  mouth  wide  looked  a  long  time 
into  Yevsey's  face. 

"  Do  you  understand  that  he  insulted  me?  " 

11  Yes." 

"  And  do  you  understand  why?  " 

"  No." 

The  old  man  raised  his  hand,  and  silently  shook 
his  finger. 

"  I  know  him  —  I  know  a  great  deal,"  he  said 
in  a  broken  voice. 

Removing  his  black  cap  he  rubbed  his  bare  skull 
with  his  hands,  looked  about  the  room,  again 
touched  his  head  with  his  hands,  and  lay  down  on 
the  sofa. 

Rayisa  Petrovna  brought  in  supper. 

"  Are  you  tired?  "  she  asked  as  she  set  the  table. 

"  It  seems  I  am  a  little  under  the  weather. 
Fever,  I  think.  Give  me  another  glass  of  brandy. 
Sit   down   with   us.     It's   too    early    for   you    to 

go." 

He  talked  rapidly.  Rayisa  sat  down,  the  old 
man  raised  his  glasses,  and  scanned  her  suspiciously 
from  head  to  foot.  At  supper  he  suddenly  lifted 
his  spoon  and  said: 


80  THE  SPY 

"  Impossible  for  me  to  eat.  I'll  tell  you  about 
something  that  happened."  Bending  over  the 
plate  he  was  silent  for  some  time  as  if  considering 
whether  or  not  to  speak  of  the  incident.  Then 
he  began  with  a  sigh.  "  Suppose  a  man  has  a 
wife,  his  own  house,  not  a  large  house,  a  garden, 
and  a  vegetable  garden,  a  cook,  all  acquired  by  hard 
labor  without  sparing  himself.  Then  comes  a 
young  man,  sickly,  consumptive,  who  rents  a  room 
in  the  garret,  and  takes  meals  with  the  master 
and  mistress." 

Rayisa  listened  calmly  and  attentively.  Yevsey 
felt  bored.  While  looking  into  the  woman's  face 
he  stubbornly  endeavored  to  comprehend  what  had 
happened  in  the  shop  that  day.  He  felt  as  if  he 
had  unexpectedly  struck  a  match  and  set  fire  to 
something  old  and  long  dried,  which  began  to  burn 
alarmingly  and  almost  consumed  him  in  its  sudden 
malicious  blaze. 

"  I  must  keep  quiet,"  he  thought. 

"Were  you  the  man?"  asked  Rayisa. 

Raspopov  quickly  raised  his  head. 

"Why  I?"  he  asked.  He  struck  his  breast, 
and  exclaimed  with  angry  heat,  "  The  question  here 
is,  not  about  the  man  but  about  the  law.  Ought 
a  man  uphold  the  law  ?  Yes,  he  ought.  Without 
law  it  is  impossible  to  live.  You  people  are  stupid, 
because  man  is  in  every  respect  like  a  beast.  He 
is  greedy,  malicious,  cruel." 

The  old  man  rose  a  little  from  his  armchair, 


THE  SPY  8 1 

and  shouted  his  words  in  Rayisa's  face.  His  bald 
pate  reddened.  Yevsey  listened  to  his  exclama- 
tions without  believing  in  their  sincerity.  He 
reflected  on  how  people  are  bound  together  and 
enmeshed  by  some  unseen  threads,  and  how  if  one 
thread  is  accidentally  pulled,  they  twist  and  turn, 
rage  and  cry  out.     So  he  said  to  himself: 

"  I  must  be  more  careful." 

The  old  man  continued: 

"  Words  bring  no  harm  if  you  do  not  listen  to 
them.  But  when  the  fellow  in  the  garret  began 
to  trouble  her  heart  with  his  ideas,  she,  a  stupid 
young  woman,  and  that  friend  of  his  who  —  who 
to-day  —  "  The  old  man  suddenly  came  to  a  stop, 
and  looked  at  Yevsey.  "  What  are  you  thinking 
about?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  suspicious  tone. 
*  .  Yevsey  rose  and  answered  in  embarrassment : 

11 1  am  not  thinking." 

"  Well,  then,  go.  You've  had  your  supper.  So 
go.     Clear  the  table." 

Desiring  to  vex  his  master  Yevsey  was  intention- 
ally slow  in  removing  the  dishes  from  the  table. 

"  Go,  I  tell  you !  "  the  old  man  screamed  in  a 
squeaking  voice.     "  Oh,  what  a  fool  you  are !  " 

Yevsey  went  to  his  room,  and  seated  himself  on 
the  chest.  Having  left  the  door  slightly  ajar,  he 
could  hear  his  master's  rapid  talk. 

"  They  came  for  him  one  night.  She  got  fright- 
ened, began  to  shiver,  understood  then  on  what 
road  these  people  had  put  her.     I  told  her  — " 


82  THE  SPY 

"  So  it  was  you?  "  Rayisa  asked  aloud. 

The  old  man  now  began  to  speak  in  a  low  voice, 
almost  a  whisper.  Then  Yevsey  heard  Rayisa's 
clear  voice : 

"Did  he  die?" 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  the  old  man  shouted  ex- 
citedly. "  You  can't  cure  a  man  of  consumption. 
He  would  have  died  at  any  rate." 

Yevsey  sat  upon  the  chest  listening  to  the  low 
rasping  sound  of  his  talk. 

"What  are  you  sitting  there  for?" 

The  boy  turned  around,  and  saw  the  master's 
head  thrust  through  the  door. 

"  Lie  down  and  sleep." 

The  master  withdrew  his  head,  and  the  door  was 
tightly  closed. 

"  Who  died?  "  Yevsey  thought  as  he  lay  in  bed. 

The  dry  words  of  the  old  man  came  fluttering 
down  and  fluttering  down,  like  autumn  leaves  upon 
a  grave.  The  boy  felt  more  and  more  distinctly 
that  he  lived  in  a  circle  of  dread  mystery.  Some- 
times the  old  man  grew  angry,  and  shouted;  which 
prevented  the  boy  from  thinking  or  sleeping.  He 
was  sorry  for  Rayisa,  who  kept  peacefully  silent  in 
answer  to  his  ejaculations.  At  last  Yevsey  heard 
her  go  to  her  own  room.  Perfect  stillness  then 
prevailed  in  the  master's  room  for  several  minutes, 
after  which  Raspopov's  voice  sounded  again,  but 
now  even  as  usual : 


THE  SPY  83 

"  Blessed  is  the  man  that  walketh  not  in  the 
counsel  of  the  ungodly,  nor  standeth  in  the  way  of 
sinners,  nor  sit  — " 

With  these  reassuring  words  ringing  in  his  ears 
Yevsey  fell  asleep. 

The  next  morning  Rayisa  again  called  him  to 
her. 

"  What  happened  in  the  shop  yesterday?"  she 
asked  with  a  smile  when  he  had  seated  him- 
self. 

Yevsey  told  her  everything  in  detail,  and  she 
laughed  contentedly  and  happily.  She  suddenly 
drew  her  brows  together  and  asked  in  an  under- 
tone : 

"  Do  you  understand  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  A  spy,"  she  whispered,  her  eyes  growing  wide 
with  fright. 

Yevsey  was  silent.     She  rose  and  went  to  him. 

"What  a  tragic  fellow  you  are!"  she  said 
thoughtfully  and  kindly,  stroking  his  head.  "  You 
don't  understand  anything.  You're  so  droll. 
What  was  the  stuff  you  told  me  the  other  day? 
What  other  life?" 

The  question  animated  him;  he  wanted  very 
much  to  talk  about  it.  Raising  his  head  and  look- 
ing into  her  face  with  the  fathomless  stare  of 
blind  eyes,  he  began  to  speak  rapidly. 

"  Of  course  there's  another  life.     From  where 


84  THE  SPY 

else  do  the  fairy-tales  come?  And  not  only  the 
fairy-tales,  but  — " 

The  woman  smiled,  and  rumpled  his  hair  with 
her  warm  fingers. 

"  You  little  stupid !  They'll  seize  you,"  she 
added  seriously,  even  sternly,  u  they'll  lead  you 
wherever  they  want  to,  and  do  with  you  whatever 
they  want  to.     That  will  be  your  life." 

Yevsey  nodded  his  head,  silently  assenting  to 
Rayisa's  words. 

She  sighed  and  looked  through  the  window  upon 
the  street.  When  she  turned  to  Yevsey,  her  face 
surprised  him.  It  was  red,  and  her  eyes  had  be- 
come smaller  and  darker. 

"  If  you  were  smarter,"  she  said  in  an  indolent, 
hollow  voice,  "  or  more  alert,  maybe  I  would  tell 
you  something.  But  you're  such  a  queer  chappie 
there's  no  use  telling  you  anything,  and  your  master 
ought  to  be  choked  to  death.  There,  now,  go  tell 
him  what  I've  said  —  you  tell  him  everything." 

Yevsey  rose  from  the  table,  feeling  as  if  a  cold 
stream  of  insult  had  been  poured  over  him.  He 
inclined  his  head  and  mumbled: 

"  I'll  never  tell  anything  about  you  —  to  nobody. 
I  love  you  very  much,  and  —  even  if  you  choked 
him,  I  wouldn't  tell  anybody.  That's  how  I  love 
you." 

He  shuffled  to  the  door,  but  the  woman's  hands 
caught  him  like  warm  white  wings,  and  turned 
him  back. 


THE  SPY  85 

"  Did  I  insult  you  ?  "  he  heard.  "  Well,  excuse 
me.  If  you  knew  what  a  devil  he  is,  how  he  tor- 
tures me,  and  how  I  hate  him.  Dear  me !  "  She 
pressed  his  face  tightly  to  her  breast,  and  kissed 
him  twice.     "  So  you  love  me?  " 

"  Yes,"  whispered  Yevsey,  feeling  himself  turn- 
ing around  lightly  in  a  hot  whirlpool  of  unknown 
bliss. 

"How?" 

"  I  don't  know.     I  love  you  very  much." 

Laughing  and  fondling  him,  she  said: 

"  You'll  tell  me  about  it.     Ah,  you  little  baby !  " 

Going  down  the  stairs  he  heard  her  satisfied 
laugh,  and  smiled  in  response.  His  head  turned, 
his  entire  body  was  suffused  with  sweet  lassitude. 
He  walked  quietly  and  cautiously,  as  if  afraid  of 
spilling  the  hot  joy  of  his  heart. 

"Why  have  you  been  so  long?"  asked  the 
master. 

Yevsey  looked  at  him,  but  saw  only  a  confused, 
formless  blur. 

"  I  have  a  headache,"  he  answered  slowly. 

"  And  I,  too.  What  does  it  mean?  Has  Ray- 
isa  gotten  up?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  she  speak  to  you  ?  " 

11  Yes." 

"What  about?  "  the  master  asked  hastily. 

The  question  was  like  a  slap  in  Yevsey's  face. 
He  recovered,  however,  and  answered  indifferently : 


$6  THE  SPY 

"  She  said  I  hadn't  swept  the  kitchen  clean." 

A  few  moments  later  Yevsey  heard  the  old  man's 
low  dejected  exclamation: 

"  That  woman  is  a  dangerous  creature !  Yes, 
yes!  She  tries  to  find  everything  out,  and  makes 
you  tell  her  whatever  she  wants." 

Yevsey  looked  at  him  from  a  distance,  and 
thought : 

M  I  wish  you  were  dead." 

The  days  passed  rapidly,  fused  in  a  jumbled 
mass,  as  if  joy  were  lying  in  wait  ahead.  But 
every  day  grew  more  and  more  exciting. 


CHAPTER  VII 

npHE  old  man  became  sulky  and  taciturn.  He 
peered  around  strangely,  suddenly  burst  into 
a  passion,  shouted,  and  howled  dismally,  like  a 
sick  dog.  He  constantly  complained  of  a  pain  in 
his  head  and  nausea.  At  meals  he  smelt  of  the 
food  suspiciously,  crumbled  the  bread  into  small 
pieces  with  his  shaking  fingers,  and  held  the  tea 
and  brandy  up  to  the  light.  His  nightly  scoldings 
of  Rayisa,  in  which  he  threatened  to  bring  ruin 
upon  her,  became  more  and  more  frequent.  But 
she  answered  all  his  outcries  with  soft  composure. 

Yevsey's  love  for  the  woman  waxed  stronger, 
and  his  sad,  embittered  heart  was  filled  with  hatred 
of  his  master. 

"  Don't  I  understand  what  you're  up  to,  you 
low-down  woman?  "  raged  the  old  man.  "  What 
does  my  sickness  come  from  ?  What  are  you  pois- 
oning me  with?  " 

"What  are  you  saying?  What  are  you  say- 
ing ?  "  exclaimed  the  woman,  her  calm  voice  quiv- 
ering.    "  You  are  sick  from  old  age." 

"You  lie!     You  lie  I" 

11  And  from  fright  besides." 

"  You  miserable  creature,  keep  quiet!  " 

87 


88  THE  SPY 

"  You  suffer  from  the  weight  of  years." 

"  You  lie !  " 

"  And  it's  time  you  thought  of  death." 

11  Aha !  That's  what  you  want !  You  lie ! 
You  hope  in  vain !  I'm  not  the  only  one  to  know 
all  about  you.  I  told  Dorimedont  Lukin  about 
you."  He  burst  again  into  a  loud  tearful  whine. 
"  I  know  he's  your  paramour.  It's  he  who  talked 
you  over  into  poisoning  me.  You  think  you'll  have 
it  easier  with  him,  don't  you?  You  won't,  you 
won't!" 

Once  at  night,  during  a  similar  scene,  Rayisa  left 
the  old  man's  room  with  a  candle  in  her  hand,  half 
dressed,  white  and  voluptuous.  She  walked  as  in 
a  dream,  swaying  from  side  to  side  and  treading 
uncertainly  with  her  bare  feet.  Her  eyes  were 
half  closed,  the  fingers  of  her  out-stretched  right 
hand  clawed  the  air  convulsively.  The  little 
smoky  red  tongue  of  the  candle  inclined  toward 
her  breast,  almost  touching  her  shirt.  It  illumin- 
ated her  lips  parted  in  exhaustion  and  sickness, 
and  set  her  teeth  agleam. 

After  she  had  passed  Yevsey  without  noticing 
him,  he  instinctively  followed  her  to  the  door  of  the 
kitchen,  where  the  sight  that  met  his  gaze  numbed 
him  with  horror.  The  woman  was  holding  a  large 
kitchen  knife  in  her  hand,  testing  its  sharp  edge 
with  her  finger.  She  bent  her  head,  and  put  her 
hand  to  her  full  neck  near  the  ear,  where  she 
sought  something  with  her  long  fingers.     Then 


THE  SPY  89 

she  drew  a  breath,  and  quietly  returned  the  knife 
to  the  table.     Her  hands  fell  at  her  sides. 

Yevsey  clutched  the  doorpost.  At  the  sound 
the  woman  started  and  turned. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  demanded  in  an 
angry  whisper. 

Yevsey  answered  breathlessly. 

"  He'll  die  soon.  Why  are  you  doing  that  to 
yourself?     Please  don't  do  it.     You  mustn't." 

"Hush!" 

She  put  her  hands  on  Yevsey  as  if  for  support, 
and  walked  back  into  the  old  man's  room. 

Soon  the  master  became  unable  to  leave  his 
bed.  His  voice  grew-  feeble,  and  frequently  a 
rattle  sounded  in  his  throat.  His  face  darkened, 
his  weak  neck  failed  to  sustain  his  head,  and 
the  grey  tuft  on  his  chin  stuck  up  oddly.  The 
physician  came  every  day.  Each  time  Rayisa  gave 
the  sick  man  medicine,  he  groaned  hoarsely: 

"With  poison,  eh?  Oh,  oh,  you  wicked 
thing!" 

"  If  you  don't  take  it,  I'll  throw  it  away." 

"No,  no!  Leave  it!  and  to-morrow  I'll  call 
the  police.  I'll  ask  them  what  you  are  poisoning 
me  with." 

Yevsey  stood  at  the  door,  sticking  first  his  eye, 
then  his  ear  to  the  chink.  He  was  ready  to  cry  out 
in  amazement  at  Rayisa's  patience.  His  pity  for 
her  rose  in  his  breast  more  and  more  irrepressibly, 
and  an  ever  keener  desire  for  the  death  of  the 


90  THE  SPY 

old  man.  It  was  difficult  for  him  to  breathe, 
as  on  a  dry  icy-cold  day. 

The  bed  creaked.  Yevsey  heard  the  thin  sounds 
of  a  spoon  knocking  against  glass. 

"Mix  it,  mix  it !     You  carrion !  "  mumbled  the 


master. 


Once  he  ordered  Rayisa  to  carry  him  to  the 
sofa.  She  picked  him  up  in  her  arms  as  if  he 
were  a  baby.  His  yellow  head  lay  upon  her  rosy 
shoulder,  and  his  dark,  shrivelled  feet  dangled 
limply  in  the  folds  of  her  white  skirt. 

"  God !  "  wailed  the  old  man,  lolling  back  on 
the  broad  sofa.  "  God,  why  hast  Thou  given 
over  Thy  servant  into  the  hands  of  the  wicked? 
Are  my  sins  more  grievous  than  their  sins,  O  Lord  ? 
And  can  it  be  that  the  hour  of  my  death  is  come?  " 
He  lost  breath  and  his  throat  rattled.  "  Get 
away !  "  he  went  on  in  a  wheezing  voice.  "  You 
have  poisoned  one  man  —  I  saved  you  from  hard 
labor,  and  now  you  are  poisoning  me  —  ugh,  ugh, 
you  lie !  " 

Rayisa  slowly  moved  aside.  Yevsey  now  could 
see  his  master's  little  dry  body.  His  stomach  rose 
and  fell,  his  feet  twitched,  and  his  lips  twisted  spas- 
modically, as  he  opened  and  closed  them,  greedily 
gasping  for  air,  and  licked  them  with  his  thin 
tongue,  at  the  same  time  displaying  the  black  hol- 
low of  his  mouth.  His  forehead  and  cheeks  glis- 
tened with  sweat,  his  little  eyes,  now  looking  large 
and  deep,  constantly  followed  Rayisa. 


THE  SPY  91 

"  And  I  have  nobody,  no  one  near  me  on  earth, 
no  true  friend.  Why,  O  Lord?  "  The  voice  of 
the  old  man  wheezed  and  broke.  "  You  wanton, 
swear  before  the  ikon  that  you  are  not  poisoning 
me." 

Rayisa  turned  to  the  corner,  and  crossed  herself. 

"  I  don't  believe  you,  I  don't  believe  you,"  he 
muttered,  clutching  at  the  underwear  on  his  breast 
and  at  the  back  of  the  sofa,  and  digging  his  nails 
into  them. 

"  Drink  your  medicine.  It  will  be  better  for 
you,"  Rayisa  suddenly  almost  shrieked. 

"  It  will  be  better,"  the  old  man  repeated. 
"  My  dear,  my  only  one,  I  will  give  you  everything, 
my  own  Ray  — " 

He  stretched  his  bony  arm  toward  her  and 
beckoned  to  her  to  draw  near  him,  shaking  his 
black  fingers. 

"  Ah,  I  am  sick  of  you,  you  detestable  creature," 
Rayisa  cried  in  a  stifled  voice;  and  snatching  the 
pillow  from  under  his  head  she  flung  it  over  the 
old  man's  face,  threw  herself  upon  it,  and  held 
his  thin  arms,  which  flashed  in  the  air. 

11  You  have  made  me  sick  of  you,"  she  cried 
again.  u  I  can't  stand  you  any  more.  Go  to 
the  devil!     Go,  go!  " 

Yevsey  dropped  to  the  floor.  He  heard  the 
stifled  rattle,  the  low  squeak,  the  hollow  blows;  he 
understood  that  Rayisa  was  choking  and  squeezing 
the  old  man,  and  that  his  master  kept  beating  his 


92  THE  SPY 

feet  upon  the  sofa.  He  felt  neither  pity  nor  fear. 
He  merely  desired  everything  to  be  accomplished 
more  quickly.  So  he  covered  his  eyes  and  ears 
with  his  hands. 

The  pain  of  a  blow  caused  by  the  opening  of 
the  door  compelled  him  to  jump  to  his  feet.  Be- 
fore him  stood  Rayisa  arranging  her  hair,  which 
hung  over  her  shoulders. 

"  Well,  did  you  see  it  ?  "  she  asked  gruffly.  Her 
face  was  red,  but  now  more  calm.  Her  hands 
did  not  tremble. 

11 1  did,"  replied  Yevsey,  nodding  his  head.  He 
moved  closer  to  Rayisa. 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to,  you  can  inform  the 
police.,, 

She  turned  and  walked  into  the  room  leaving 
the  door  open.  Yevsey  remained  at  the  door, 
trying  not  to  look  at  the  sofa. 

"Is  he  dead,  quite  dead?"  he  asked  in  a 
whisper. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  woman  distinctly. 

Then  Yevsey  turned  his  head,  and  regarded  the 
little  body  of  his  master  with  indifferent  eyes. 
Flat  and  dry  it  lay  upon  the  sofa  as  if  glued  there. 
He  looked  at  the  corpse,  then  at  Rayisa,  and 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 

In  the  corner  near  the  bed  the  clock  on  the 
wall  softly  and  irresolutely  struck  one  and  two. 
The  woman  started  at  each  stroke.  The  last  time 
she  went  up  to  the  clock,  and  stopped  the  halting 


THE  SPY  93 

pendulum  with  an  uncertain  hand.  Then  she 
seated  herself  on  the  bed,  putting  her  elbows  on 
her  knees  and  pressing  her  head  in  her  hands. 
Her  hair  falling-down,  covered  her  face  and  hands 
as  with  a  dense  dark  veil. 

Scarcely  touching  the  floor  with  his  toes,  so  as 
not  to  break  the  stern  silence,  Yevsey  went  over 
to  Rayisa,  and  stationed  himself  at  her  side,  dully 
looking  at  her  white  round  shoulder.  The  wo- 
man's posture  roused  the  desire  to  say  something 
soothing  to  her. 

"  That's  what  he  deserved,"  he  uttered  in  a 
low  grave  voice. 

The  stillness  round  about  was  startled,  but  in- 
stantly settled  down  again,  listening,  expecting. 

11  Open  the  window,"  said  Rayisa  sternly.  But 
when  Yevsey  walked  away  from  her,  she  stopped 
him  with  a  low  question,  "  Are  you  afraid?  " 

81  No." 

"Why  not?     You  are  a  timid  boy." 

"  When  you  are  around,  I'm  not  afraid." 

11  Are  you  sorry  for  him  ?  " 

81  No." 

"  Open  the  window." 

The  cold  night  air  streamed  into  the  room,  and 
blew  out  the  lamplight.  The  shadows  quickly 
flickered  on  the  wall  and  disappeared.  The 
woman  tossed  her  hair  back  and  straightened  her- 
self to  look  at  Yevsey  with  her  large  eyes. 

81  Why  am  I  going  to  ruin?  "  she  asked  in  per- 


94  THE  SPY 

plexity.  "  It  has  been  this  way  all  my  life.  From 
one  pit  to  another,  each  deeper  than  the  one  be- 
fore." 

Yevsey  again  stationed  himself  beside  her;  they 
were  silent  for  a  long  time.  Finally  she  put  her 
soft,  but  cool  hand  around  his  waist,  and  pressing 
him  to  her  asked  softly : 

"Listen,  will  you  tell?" 

"  No,"  he  answered,  closing  his  eyes. 

"You  won't  tell?  To  nobody?  Never"  the 
woman  asked  in  a  mournful  tone. 

"  Never !  "  he  repeated  quietly  but  firmly. 

"  Don't  tell.  I'll  be  helpful  to  you,"  she  urged 
him,  kindly  stroking  his  cheek. 

She  rose,  looked  around,  and  spoke  to  him  in 
a  businesslike  way: 

"  Dress  yourself.  It's  cold.  And  the  room 
must  be  put  in  order  a  little.     Go,  get  dressed." 

When  Yevsey  returned  he  saw  the  master's 
body  completely  covered  with  a  blanket.  Rayisa 
remained  as  she  had  been,  half  dressed  with  bare 
shoulders.  This  touched  him.  They  set  the 
room  to  rights,  working  without  haste  and  look- 
ing at  each  other  now  and  then  silently  and  gravely. 

The  boy  felt  that  this  silent  nocturnal  activity 
in  the  close  room  bound  him  more  firmly  to  the 
woman,  who  was  just  as  solitary  as  himself,  and 
like  him,  knew  terror.  He  tried  to  remain  as  near 
her  as  possible,  and  avoided  looking  at  the  master's 
body. 


THE  SPY  95 

It  began  to  dawn.  Rayisa  listened  to  the  sound 
of  the  waking  house  and  city.  She  sighed,  and 
beckoned  to  Yevsey. 

"  Now,  go  lie  down  and  sleep.  I  will  wake 
you  soon,  and  send  you  with  a  note  to  Dorimedont 
Lukin.  Go!  "  She  led  him  to  the  chest  upon 
which  he  slept  and  felt  the  bedding  with  her  hand. 
11  Oh,  what  a  hard  bed  you  have!  " 

When  he  had  lain  down,  she  seated  herself 
beside  him,  and  stroked  his  head  and  shoulders 
with  her  soft  smooth  hand,  while  she  spoke  in 
a  gentle  chant. 

"  Give  him  the  note.  And  if  he  asks  you  how 
it  happened,  tell  him  you  don't  know.  Tell  him 
you  were  asleep  and  didn't  see  anything." 

She  was  silent,  and  knit  her  brows.  Overcome 
by  exhaustion  Yevsey,  warmed  by  the  woman's 
body  and  lulled  by  her  even  speech,  began  to 
drowse. 

"  No,"  she  continued,  "  that's  not  right." 

She  gave  her  directions  calmly  and  intelligently, 
and  her  caresses,  warm  and  sweet,  awakened  mem- 
ories of  his  mother.     He  felt  good.     He  smiled. 

"  Dorimedont  Lukin  is  a  spy,  too,"  he  heard 
her  lulling,  even  voice.  "  Be  on  your  guard.  Be 
careful.  If  he  gets  it  out  of  you,  I'll  say  you  knew 
everything  and  helped  me.  Then  you'll  be  put  in 
prison,  too."  Now  she,  too,  smiled,  and  repeated, 
"  In  prison,  and  then  hard  labor.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 


96  THE  SPY 

u  Yes,"  Yevsey  answered  happily,  looking  into 
her  face  with  half-closed  eyes. 

"  You  are  falling  asleep.  Well,  sleep. " 
Happy  and  grateful  he  heard  the  words  in  his 
slumber.  "  Will  you  forget  everything  I  told 
you?  What  a  weak,  thin  little  fellow  you  are! 
Sleep!" 

Yevsey  fell  asleep,  but  soon  a  stern  voice  awoke 
him. 

"Boy,  get  up!     Quick!     Boy!" 

He  rose  with  a  start  of  his  whole  body,  and 
stretched  out  his  hand.  At  his  bed  stood  Dorime- 
dont  Lukin  holding  a  cane. 

"  Why  are  you  sleeping  ?  Your  master  died,  yet 
you  sleep." 

"  He's  tired.  We  didn't  sleep  the  whole  night," 
said  Rayisa,  who  was  looking  in  from  the  kitchen 
with  her  hat  on  and  her  umbrella  in  her  hand. 

"Tired?  On  the  day  of  your  benefactor's 
death  you  must  weep,  not  sleep.     Dress  yourself." 

The  flat  pimply  face  of  the  spy  was  stern.  His 
words  compelled  Yevsey  imperiously,  like  reins 
steering  a  docile  horse. 

"  Run  to  the  police  station.  Here's  a  note. 
Don't  lose  it." 

In  a  half  fainting  condition  Yevsey  dressed  him- 
self wearily,  and  went  out  in  the  street.  He  forced 
his  eyes  open  as  he  ran  over  the  pavement  bump- 
ing into  everyone  he  met. 

"  I  wish  he  would  be  buried  soon,"  he  thought 


THE  SPY  97 

disconnectedly.  "  Dorimedont  will  frighten  her, 
and  she'll  tell  him  everything.  Then  I'll  go  to 
prison,  too.  But  if  I  am  there  with  her,  I  won't 
be  afraid.  She  went  after  him  herself,  she  didn't 
send  me,  she  was  sorry  to  wake  me  up  —  or 
maybe  she  was  afraid  —  how  am  I  going  to  live 
now?  " 

When  he   returned  he   found   a  black-bearded, 
policeman  and  a  grey  old  man  in  a  long  frock  coat 
sitting  in  the  room.     Dorimedont  was  speaking  to 
the  policeman  in  a  commanding  voice. 

u  Do  you  hear,  Ivan  Ivanovich,  what  the  doctor 
says?  So  it  was  a  cancer.  Aha,  there's  the  boy. 
Hey,  boy,  go  fetch  half  a  dozen  bottles  of  beer. 
Quick!" 

Rayisa  was  preparing  coffee  and  an  omelet  in 
the  kitchen.  Her  sleeves  were  drawn  up  over 
her  elbow,  and  her  white  hands  darted  about  dex- 
terously. 

"  When  you  come  back,  I'll  give  you  coffee," 
she  promised  Yevsey,  smiling. 

Yevsey  was  kept  running  all  day.  He  had  no 
chance  to  observe  what  was  happening  in  the  house, 
but  felt  that  everything  was  going  well  with  Rayisa. 
She  was  more  beautiful  than  ever.  Everybody 
looked  at  her  with  satisfaction. 

At  night  when  almost  sick  with  exhaustion  Yev- 
sey lay  down  in  bed  with  an  unpleasant  sticky  taste 
in  his  mouth,  he  heard  Dorimedont  say  to  Rayisa 
in  an  emphatic,  authoritative  tone:. 


98  THE  SPY 

"  We  mustn't  let  that  boy  out  of  our  sight,  you 
understand?     He's  stupid. " 

Then  he  and  Rayisa  entered  Yevsey's  room. 
The  spy  put  out  his  hand  with  an  important  air,  and 
said  snuffling: 

"  Get  up !  Tell  us  how  you're  going  to  live 
now." 

"  I  don't  know." 

"If  you  don't  know,  who  is  to  know?  "  The 
spy's  eyes  bulged,  his  face  and  nose  grew  purple. 
He  breathed  hotly  and  noisily,  resembling  an  over- 
heated oven.  "  I  know,"  he  answered  himself, 
raising  the  finger  on  which  was  the  ring. 

"  You  will  live  with  us,  with  me,"  said  Rayisa 
kindly. 

"  Yes,  you  will  live  with  us,  and  I  will  find  a 
good  place  for  you." 

Yevsey  was  silent. 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Yevsey  after  a  pause. 

"  You  ought  to  thank  me,  you  little  fool,"  Dori- 
medont  explained  condescendingly. 

Yevsey  felt  that  the  little  grey  eyes  held  him  fast 
to  something  as  if  with  nails. 

"We'll  be  better  to  you  than  relatives,"  con- 
tinued Dorimedont,  walking  away,  and  leaving  be- 
hind the  heavy  odor  of  beer,  sweat,  and  grease. 

Yevsey  opened  the  window,  and  listened  to  the 
grumbling  and  stirring  of  the  dark,  exhausted  city 
sinking  into  sleep.     A  sharp  aching  pain  stole  up 


THE  SPY  99 

from  somewhere.  Faintness  seized  the  boy's  body. 
A  thin  cord,  as  it  were,  cut  at  his  heart,  and  made 
breathing  difficult.  He  lay  down  and  groaned 
and  peered  into  the  darkness  with  frightened  eyes. 
Wardrobes  and  trunks  moved  about  in  the  obscur- 
ity, black  dancing  spots  rocking  to  and  fro.  Walls 
scarcely  visible  turned  and  twisted.  All  this  op- 
pressed Yevsey  with  unconquerable  fear,  and 
pushed  him  into  a  stifling  corner,  from  which  it 
was  impossible  to  escape. 

In  Rayisa's  room  the  spy  guffawed. 

"  M-m-m-my !  Ha,  ha,  ha  I  It's  nothing  —  it 
will  pass  away  —  ha,  ha!     You'll  get  used — " 

Yevsey  thrust  his  head  under  the  pillow  in  or- 
der not  to  hear  these  irritating  exclamations.  A 
minute  later,  unable  to  catch  his  breath,  he  jumped 
from  bed.  The  dry  dark  feet  of  his  master  flashed 
before  him,  his  little  red  sickly  eyes  lighted  up. 
Yevsey  uttered  a  short  shriek,  and  ran  to  Rayisa's 
door  with  outstretched  hands.  He  pushed  against 
it  and  cried: 

"  I'm  afraid." 

Two  large  bodies  in  the  room  bounded  to  their 
feet.     Someone  bawled  in  a  startled  angry  voice: 

"Get  out  of  there!" 

Yevsey  fell  to  his  knees,  and  sank  down  on  the 
floor  at  their  feet  like  a  frightened  lizard. 

"  I'm  afraid!     I'm  afraid!  "  he  squeaked. 

The  following  days  were  taken  up  with  prepara- 
tions for  the  funeral  and  with  the  removal  of  Ray- 


ioo  THE  SPY 

isa  to  Dorimedont's  quarters.  Yevsey  flung  him- 
self about  like  a  little  bird  in  a  cloud  of  dark  fear. 
Only  occasionally  did  the  timid  thought  flicker  in 
his  mind  like  a  will  o'  the  wisp,  "  What  will  be- 
come of  me  ?  "  It  saddened  his  heart,  and  awoke 
the  desire  to  run  away  and  hide  himself.  But 
everywhere  he  met  the  eagle  eyes  of  Dorimedont, 
and  heard  his  dull  voice : 

"Boy,  quick!" 

The  command  resounded  within  Yevsey,  and 
pushed  him  from  side  to  side.  He  ran  about  for 
whole  days  at  a  time.  In  the  evening  he  fell 
asleep  empty  and  exhausted,  and  his  sleep  was 
heavy  and  black  and  full  of  terrible  dreams. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"pROM  this  life  Yevsey  awoke  in  a  dusky  cor- 
ner of  a  large  room  with  a  low  ceiling.  He 
sat  holding  a  pen  in  his  hand  at  a  table  covered 
with  dirty  green  oilcloth,  and  before  him  lay  a 
thick  book  in  which  there  was  writing,  and  a  few 
pages  of  blank  ruled  paper.  He  did  not  under- 
stand what  he  had  to  do  with  all  this  apparatus, 
and  looked  around  helplessly. 

There  were  many  tables  in  the  room  with  two  or 
four  persons  at  each.  They  sat  there  with  a  tired 
and  vexed  expression  on  their  faces,  moving  their 
pens  rapidly,  smoking  much,  and  now  and  then 
casting  curt  words  at  one  another.  The  pungent 
blue  smoke  floated  to  the  window  casements,  where 
it  met  the  deafening  noise  that  entered  importu- 
nately from  the  street.  Numberless  flies  buzzed 
about  the  occupants'  heads,  crawled  over  the 
tables  and  notices  on  the  walls,  and  knocked 
against  the  panes.  They  resembled  the  people 
who  filled  this  stifling  filthy  cage  with  their  bustle. 

Gendarmes  stood  at  the  doors,  officers  came  and 
went,  various  persons  entered,  exchanged  greet- 
ings, smiled  obsequiously,  and  sighed.  Their 
rapid,   plaintive   talk,   which  kept  up  a   constant 

IOI 


< 


ro2  THE  SPY 

see-saw,  was  broken  and  drowned  by  the  stern 
calls  of  the  clerks. 

Yevsey  sat  in  his  corner  with  his  neck  stretched 
over  the  table  and  his  transparent  eyes  wide  open, 
scrutinizing  the  different  clerks  in  an  attempt  to 
remember  their  faces  and  figures.  He  wanted  to 
find  someone  among  them  who  would  help  him. 
The  instinct  of  self-protection,  now  awakened  in 
him,  concentrated  all  his  oppressed  feelings,  all  his 
broken  thoughts,  into  one  clear  endeavor  to  adapt 
himself  to  this  place  and  these  people,  as  soon  as 
possible,  in  order  to  make  himself  unnoticed  among 
them. 

All  the  clerks,  young  and  old,  had  something  in 
common,  a  certain  seedy  and  worn  appearance. 
They  were  all  equally  dejected,  but  they  easily 
grew  excited  and  shouted,  gesticulating  and  show- 
ing their  teeth.  There  were  many  elderly  and 
bald-headed  men  among  them,  of  whom  several 
had  red  hair  and  two  grey  hair.  Of  the  two,  one 
was  a  tall  man  who  wore  his  hair  long  and  had  a 
large  mustache,  resembling  a  priest,  whose  beard 
has  been  shaved  off.  The  other  was  a  red-faced 
man  with  a  huge  beard  and  a  bare  skull.  It  was 
the  last  who  had  put  Yevsey  into  a  corner,  set  a 
book  before  him,  and,  tapping  his  finger  upon  it, 
had  told  him  to  copy  certain  parts  of  it. 

Now  an  elderly  woman  all  in  black  stood  before 
this  old  man,  and  drawled  in  a  plaintive  tone: 

"  Little  father,  gracious  sir," 


THE  SPY  103 

"  You  disturb  me  in  my  work,"  shouted  the  old 
man  without  looking  at  her. 

And  at  the  door  sitting  upon  a  bench  a  little 
thin  young  girl  in  a  pink  dress  was  sobbing  and 
wiping  her  face  with  her  white  apron. 

"  I  am  not  guilty." 

"  Who  is  whining  there?  "  asked  a  sharp  voice. 

The  outsiders  who  came  in  did  nothing  but  com- 
plain, make  requests,  and  justify  themselves.  They 
spoke  while  standing,  humbly  and  tearfully.  The 
officials,  on  the  other  hand,  remained  seated  and 
shouted  at  them,  now  angrily,  now  in  ridicule,  and 
now  wearily.  Paper  rustled,  and  pens  squeaked, 
and  all  this  noise  was  penetrated  by  the  steady 
weeping  of  the  girl. 

11  Aleksey,"  the  man  with  the  grey  beard  called 
aloud,  "  take  this  woman  away  from  here."  His 
eyes  were  arrested  by  the  sight  of  Klimkov.  He 
walked  up  to  him  hastily,  and  asked  gruffly,  in 
astonishment,  "  What's  the  matter  with  you? 
Why  aren't  you  writing?  " 

Yevsey  dropped  his  head,  and  was  silent. 

"  Hmm,  another  fool  given  a  job,"  said  the  old 
man  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  Hey,  Zarubin!  " 
he  shouted  as  he  walked  away. 

A  dry  thin  boy  with  a  low  forehead  and  rest- 
less eyes  and  black  curls  on  a  small  head  sat  down 
beside  Yevsey. 

"  What's  the  trouble  ? "  he  asked,  nudging 
Yevsey's  side  with  his  elbow. 


io4  THE  SPY 

"  I  don't  understand  what  to  do,"  explained 
Klimkov  in  a  frightened  tone. 

From  somewhere  within  the  youngster  in  the  re- 
gion of  his  stomach  came  a  hollow,  broken  sound, 
"Ugh!" 

"  I'll  teach  you,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  if 
communicating  some  important  secret.  "  I'll 
teach  you,  and  you'll  give  me  half  a  ruble.  Got 
half  a  ruble?" 

"No." 

"  When  you  get  your  pay?     All  right?  " 

"  All  right." 

The  boy  seized  the  paper,  and  in  the  same  mys- 
terious tone  continued: 

"  You  see  ?  The  first  names  and  the  family 
names  are  marked  in  the  book  with  red  dots. 
Well,  you  must  copy  them  on  this  paper.  When 
you  are  done,  call  me,  and  I'll  see  whether  you 
haven't  put  down  a  pack  of  lies.  My  name  is 
Yakov  Zarubin." 

Again  a  sound  seemed  to  break  inside  the  boy's 
body  and  drop  softly,  "  Ugh !  "  He  glided  nim- 
bly between  the  tables,  his  elbows  pressed  to  his 
sides,  his  wrists  to  his  breast.  He  turned  his 
small  black  head  in  all  directions,  and  darted  his 
narrow  little  eyes  about  the  room.  Yevsey  looked 
after  him,  then  reverently  dipped  pen  in  ink,  and 
began  to  write.  Soon  he  settled  into  that  pleasant 
state  of  forgetfulness  of  his  surroundings  which 
had  grown  customary  with  him.     He  became  ab- 


THE  SPY  105 

sorbed  in  the  work,  which  required  no  thought,  and 
in  it  he  lost  his  fear. 

Yevsey  quickly  became  accustomed  to  his  new 
position.  He  did  everything  mechanically,  and 
was  ready  to  serve  anyone  at  any  time.  In  order 
the  more  immediately  to  get  away  from  people, 
he  subordinated  himself  submissively  to  everybody, 
and  cleverly  took  refuge  in  his  work  from  the  cold 
curiosity  and  the  cruel  pranks  of  his  fellow-clerks. 
Taciturn  and  reserved,  he  created  for  himself  an 
unperceived  existence  in  his  corner.  He  lived  like 
a  nocturnal  bird  perched  upon  a  dark  post  of  ob- 
servation without  understanding  the  meaning  of 
the  noisy,  motley  days  that  passed  before  his  round 
fathomless  eyes. 

Every  hour  he  heard  complaints,  groans,  ejacu- 
lations of  fright,  the  stern  voices  of  the  police  offi- 
cers, the  irritated  grumbling  and  angry  fun  of  the 
clerks.  Often  people  were  beaten  on  their  faces, 
and  dragged  out  of  the  door  by  their  necks.  Not 
infrequently  blood  was  drawn.  Sometimes  police- 
men brought  in  persons  bound  with  ropes,  bruised 
and  bellowing  with  pain. 

The  thieves  who  were  led  in  wore  an  embar- 
rassed air,  but  smiled  at  everybody  as  on  a  familiar. 
The  street  women  also  smiled  ingratiatingly,  and 
always  aranged  their  dress  with  one  and  the  same 
gesture.  Those  who  had  no  passports  observed 
a  sullen  or  dejected  silence,  and  looked  askance  at 
all  with  a  hopeless  gaze.     The  political  offenders 


106  THE  SPY 

under  police  supervision  came  in  proudly.  They 
disputed  and  shouted,  and  never  greeted  anybody 
connected  with  the  place.  They  behaved  toward 
all  there  with  tranquil  contempt  or  pronounced 
hostility.  This  class  of  culprits  was  talked  of  a 
great  deal  in  the  chancery,  almost  always  in  fun, 
sometimes  inimically.  But  under  the  ridicule  and 
enmity  Yevsey  felt  a  hidden  interest  and  some- 
thing like  reverent  awe  of  these  people  who  spoke 
so  loudly  and  independently  with  everybody. 

The  greatest  interest  of  the  clerks  was  aroused 
by  the  political  spies.  These  were  men  with  in- 
determinate physiognomies,  taciturn  and  severe. 
They  were  spoken  of  with  keen  envy.  The  clerks 
said  they  made  huge  sums  of  money,  and  related 
with  terror  how  everything  was  known  to  them, 
everything  open,  and  how  immeasurable  was  their 
power  over  people's  lives.  They  could  fix  every 
person,  so  that  no  matter  where  he  moved  he 
would  inevitably  land  in  prison. 

The  broad  gaze  of  Klimkov  lightly  embraced  ev- 
erything moving  about  him.  He  imperceptibly 
gathered  up  experience,  which  his  weak,  unin- 
formed mind  was  incapable  of  combining  into  a 
harmonious  whole.  But  the  numerous  impres- 
sions heaping  up  one  upon  the  other  were  forced 
into  unity  by  the  very  weight  of  their  mass,  and 
aroused  an  unconscious  greed  for  new  observations. 
They  sharpened  his  curiosity,  and  unexpectedly 
pointed  to  conclusions,  secretly  hinted  at  certain 


THE  SPY  107 

possibilities  which  sometimes  frightened  Yevsey  by 
their  boldness. 

No  one  about  him  pitied  anybody  else. 
Neither  was  Yevsey  sorry  for  people.  It  began  to 
seem  to  him  that  all  were  feigning  even  when  they 
cried  and  groaned  from  beatings.  In  all  eyes  he 
saw  something  concealed,  something  distrustful, 
and  more  than  once  his  ear  caught  the  cry,  threat- 
ening though  not  uttered  aloud : 

"  Wait,  our  turn  will  come  some  day,  too." 

In  the  evening,  during  those  hours  when  he  sat 
almost  alone  in  the  large  room  and  recalled  the 
impressions  of  the  day,  everything  seemed  super- 
fluous and  unreal,  everything  was  unintelligible,  a 
hindrance  to  people,  and  caused  them  perplexity 
and  vexation.  All  seemed  to  know  that  they  ought 
to  live  quietly,  without  malice,  but  for  some  reason 
no  one  wanted  to  tell  the  others  his  secret  of  a 
different  life.  No  one  trusted  his  neighbor,  every- 
body lied,  and  made  others  lie.  The  irritation 
caused  by  this  system  of  life  was  clearly  apparent. 
All  complained  aloud  of  its  burdensomeness,  each 
looked  upon  the  other  as  upon  a  dangerous  enemy, 
and  dissatisfaction  in  life  waged  war  with  mistrust, 
cutting  the  soul  in  two. 

Klimkov  did  not  dare  to  think  in  this  wise,  but 
he  felt  more  and  more  clearly  the  lack  of  order 
and  the  oppressive  weight  of  everything  that 
whirled  around  him.  At  times  he  was  seized  by  a 
heavy,  debilitating  sense  of  boredom.     His  fingers 


108  THE  SPY 

grew  languid,  he  put  the  pen  aside,  and  rested  his 
head  on  the  table,  looking  long  and  motionlessly 
into  the  murky  twilight  of  the  room.  He  pains- 
takingly endeavored  to  find  in  the  depths  of  his 
soul  that  which  was  essential  to  him. 

Then  his  chief,  the  long-nosed  old  man  with 
the  shaven  face  and  grey  mustache  would  shout  to 
him  : 

"  Klimkov,  are  you  asleep?  " 

Yevsey  would  seize  the  pen  and  say  to  himself 
with  a  sigh : 

"  It  will  pass  away." 

But  Yevsey  could  not  make  out  whether  he  still 
believed  in  the  phrase,  or  had  already  ceased  to 
believe  in  it  and  was  merely  saying  it  to  himself 
for  the  sake  of  saying  it. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TN  the  morning  Rayisa  half  dressed,  with  a 
kneaded  face  and  dim  eyes,  gave  Yevsey  his 
coffee  without  speaking  to  him.  Dorimedont 
coughed  and  spat  in  her  room.  Now  his  dull  voice 
began  to  sound  even  louder  and  more  authoritative 
than  ever.  At  dinner  and  supper  he  munched  nois- 
ily, licked  his  lips,  thrust  his  thick  tongue  far  out, 
bellowed,  and  looked  at  the  food  greedily  before 
he  began  to  eat.  His  red  pimply  face  grew  glossy, 
and  his  little  grey  eyes  glided  over  Yevsey's  face 
like  two  cold  bugs,  unpleasantly  tickling  his  skin. 
14 1  know  how  hard  life  is,  brother,"  he  said. 
41 1  know  what's  what.  I  know  what  a  pound  of 
good  and  what  a  pound  of  bad  is  worth  to  a  man, 
yes,  siree.  And  you  had  good  luck  to  come  to  me 
at  once.  Here  I  have  placed  you  in  a  position, 
and  I  am  going  to  push  you  farther  and  farther  to 
the  highest  point  possible  —  if  you  aren't  a  fool, 
of  course. " 

He  swung  his  bulky  body  as  he  spoke,  and  the 
chair  under  him  groaned.  Yevsey  as  he  listened 
to  his  talk  felt  that  this  man  could  force  him  to 
do  everything  he  wanted. 

109 


no  THE  SPY 

Sometimes  the  spy  announced  boastfully  in  self- 
applause: 

"  I  received  thanks  again  to-day  from  my  chief 
Filip  Filippovich.     He  even  gave  me  his  hand." 

Once  at  supper  Dorimedont  pulled  Yevsey's  ear 
and  began  a  recital. 

"  About  two  months  ago  I  was  sitting  in  a  res- 
taurant near  a  railroad  station,  and  I  saw  a  man 
eating  cutlets.  He  kept  looking  around  and  con- 
sulting his  watch.  You  must  know,  Yevsey,  that 
an  honest  man  with  an  easy  mind  doesn't  glance 
around  in  all  directions.  People  do  not  interest 
him,  and  he  always  knows  the  time.  The  only 
persons  who  look  about  for  people  are  the  agents 
of  the  Department  of  Safety  and  criminals.  Of 
course,  I  kept  my  eye  on  the  gentleman.  The  sub- 
urban train  pulled  in,  another  little  gentleman 
comes  into  the  restaurant,  a  dark  fellow  with  a 
little  beard,  apparently  a  Jew.  He  wore  two  flow- 
ers in  his  buttonhole,  a  red  and  a  white  one  —  a 
sign.  I  see  them  greet  each  other  with  their  eyes. 
*  Aha !  '  thinks  I.  The  dark  man  ordered  some- 
thing to  eat,  drank  a  glass  of  Selters,  and  walked 
out.  The  one  who  had  been  in  the  restaurant  first 
followed  him  leisurely,  and  I  after  them." 

Dorimedont  puffed  up  his  cheeks,  and  then 
blew  a  stream  of  air  steeped  with  the  odor  of 
meat  and  beer  into  Yevsey's  face.  Yevsey  ducked 
his  head,  and  the  spy  burst  out  laughing.     Then 


THE  SPY  in 

he  belched  noisily,  and  continued  raising  his  thick 
finger. 

14  For  a  month  and  twenty-three  days  I  tracked 
the  two  men.  Finally  I  reported  them.  I  said 
I  was  on  the  track  of  suspicious  people.  They 
went  away,  and  came  back  again.  Who  are  they? 
The  fair-haired  fellow  who  had  eaten  the  cutlet 
said,  '  It's  none  of  your  business.'  But  the  Jew 
gave  his  real  name,  and  on  inquiry  it  turned  out 
we  needed  the  man.  Along  with  him  we  took  a 
woman  known  to  us  —  the  third  time  she  fell  into 
our  hands.  We  went  to  various  other  places, 
picked  the  people  up  like  mushrooms.  But  we 
knew  the  whole  gang.  I  was  a  good  deal  put  out, 
when  suddenly  yesterday  the  fair-haired  man  gave 
us  his  name.  He  turned  out  to  be  an  important 
fellow  escaped  from  Siberia.  Well,  well,  New 
Year  I  am  to  expect  a  reward." 

Rayisa  listened  looking  over  the  spy's  head, 
while  she  slowly  chewed  a  crust  of  bread  and  bit 
off  little  pieces  at  a  time. 

44  You  catch  them,  and  catch  them,  but  they're 
not  exterminated,"  she  said  lazily. 

The  spy  smiled,  and  answered  impressively : 

44  You  don't  understand  politics.  That's  why 
you  talk  nonsense,  my  dear.  We  don't  want  to 
exterminate  these  people  altogether.  They  serve 
as  sparks  to  show  us  where  the  fire  really  begins. 
That's  what  Kilip  Filippovich  says,  and  he  himself 


ii2  THE  SPY 

was  once  a  political,  moreover,  a  Jew.  Yes,  yes. 
It's  a  very  sharp  game." 

Yevsey's  gaze  wandered  gloomily  about  the  con- 
tracted room.  The  walls  papered  in  yellow  were 
hung  with  portraits  of  Czars,  generals,  and  naked 
women.  These  motley,  obtrusive  spots  fairly  cut 
the  eyes,  recalling  sores  and  wounds  on  the  body 
of  a  sick  person.  The  furniture,  smelling  of 
whiskey  and  warm,  greasy  food,  pressed  close 
against  the  walls,  as  if  to  withdraw  from  the 
people.  The  lamp  burned  under  a  green  shade, 
and  cast  dead  shadows  upon  the  faces. 

For  some  reason  Yevsey  recollected  the  old 
sickly  flat-nosed  beggar  with  the  restless  eyes  of 
a  sharper,  whom  he  met  almost  every  day  on  his 
way  to  the  office.  The  beggar  pretended  to  be  a 
jolly  fellow,  and  would  chant  garrulously  as  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  for  alms : 

"  Stout  of  body,  red  of  nose, 
Pining  for  the  want  of  booze; 
Prithee,    help  God's   pilgrim  true, 
Charity  to  whom  'tis  due ! 
Help  my  burning  thirst  to  slake, 
Rum,  oh  rum,  for  the  Lord's  sake!  " 

The  spy  put  his  hand  across  the  table,  and  pulled 
Yevsey's  hair. 

"  When  I  speak,  you  must  listen." 
Dorimedont  often  beat  Klimkov.     Though  his 


THE  SPY  113 

blows  were  not  painful,  they  were  particularly  in- 
sulting, as  if  he  struck  not  the  face  but  the  soul. 
He  was  especially  fond  of  hitting  Yevsey  on  the 
head  with  the  heavy  ring  he  wore  on  his  finger, 
when  he  would  knock  the  boy's  skull  so  that  a 
strange  dry  cracking  sound  was  emitted.  Each 
time  Yevsey  was  dealt  a  blow  Rayisa  would  say 
indifferently,  moving  her  brows : 

"  Stop,  Dorimedont  Lukin.     Don't." 

"  Well,  well,  he  won't  be  chopped  to  pieces. 
He  has  to  be  taught." 

Rayisa  grew  thinner,  blue  circles  appeared  under 
her  eyes,  her  gaze  became  still  more  immobile  and 
dull.  On  evenings  when  the  spy  was  away  from 
home  she'  sent  Yevsey  for  whiskey,  which  she 
gulped  down  in  little  glassfuls  at  a  time.  Then 
she  spoke  to  him  in  an  even  voice.  What  she 
said  was  confused  and  unintelligible,  and  she 
frequently  halted  and  sighed.  Her  large  body 
grew  flabby,  she  undid  one  button  after  the  other, 
untied  her  ribbons,  and  half-dressed  spread  herself 
on  the  armchair  like  sour  dough. 

"  I  am  bored,"  she  said  shaking  her  head. 
14  Bored !  If  you  were  handsomer,  or  older,  you 
might  divert  me  in  my  gloom.  Oh,  how  useless 
you  are  I " 

Yevsey  hung  his  head  in  silence.  His  heart  was 
pricked  with  the  burning  cold  of  insult. 

"Well,  why  are  you  staring  at  the  floor?"  he 
heard  her  sad  complaining.     "  Others  at  your  age 


ii4  THE  SPY 

would  have  started  to  love  girls  long  ago ;  they  live 
a  living  life.  While  you  —  oh,  how  irresponsive 
you  are !  " 

Sometimes,  after  she  had  drunk  whiskey,  she 
drew  him  to  herself,  and  toyed  with  him.  This 
awoke  a  complex  feeling  of  fear,  shame,  and  sharp 
yet  not  bold  curiosity.  He  shut  his  eyes  tightly, 
and  yielded  himself  silently,  involuntarily,  to  the 
•  power  of  her  shameless,  coarse  hands.  The  weak, 
anaemic  boy  was  oppressed  by  the  debilitating  pre- 
monition of  something  terrible. 

"  Go  to  bed,  go !  Oh,  my  God !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, pushing  him  away,  dissatisfied  and  dis- 
gusted. 

Yevsey  left  her  to  go  to  the  anteroom  in  which 
he  slept.  Gradually  losing  the  undefined  warm 
feeling  he  had  for  her,  he  withdrew  into  himself 
more  and  more. 

As  he  lay  in  bed  filled  with  a  sense  of  insult 
and  sharp,  disagreeable  excitement,  he  heard 
Rayisa  singing  in  a  thick  cooing  voice  —  always 
the  same  song  —  and  heard  the  clink  of  the  bottle 
against  the  glass. 

But  once  on  a  dark  night  when  fine  streams  of 
autumn  rain  lashed  the  window  near,  his  room 
with  a  howl,  Rayisa  succeeded  in  arousing  in  the 
youngster  the  feeling  she  needed. 

"  There,  now,"  she  said,  smiling  a  drunken 
smile.  "  Now  you  are  my  paramour.  You  see 
how  good  it  is?    Eh?  " 


THE  SPY  115] 

He  stood  at  the  bed  also  intoxicated  of  a  sudden. 
His  feet  trembled,  he  was  out  of  breath.  He 
looked  at  her  large,  soft  body,  at  her  broad  face 
spread  in  a  smile.  He  was  no  longer  ashamed, 
but  his  heart  was  seized  with  the  grief  of  loss, 
and  it  sank  within  him  outraged.  For  some  reason 
he  wanted  to  weep.  But  he  was  silent.  This 
woman  was  a  stranger  to  him,  unnecessary  and 
unpleasant;  all  the  good  kind  feelings  he  had  cher- 
ished for  her  were  at  one  gulp  swallowed  up  by 
her  greedy  body,  and  disappeared  into  it  without 
leaving  a  trace,  like  belated  drops  in  a  muddy  pool. 

"  We'll  live  together,  and  we'll  give  Dorimedont 
the  go-by,  the  pig." 

"But  won't  he  find  out?"  inquired  Yevsey 
quietly. 

u  Oh,  you  little  coward,  come  here!  " 

He  did  not  dare  to  refuse,  but  now  the  woman 
was  no  longer  able  to  overcome  his  enmity  to  her. 
She  toyed  with  him  a  long  time,  and  smiled  with 
an  air  of  having  been  offended.  Then  she  roughly 
pushed  his  bony  body  from  her,  uttered  an  oath, 
and  went  away. 

When  Yevsey  was  left  alone  he  thought  in 
despair. 

"  Now  she  will  ruin  me.  She'll  store  this  up 
against  me.     I  am  lost." 

He  looked  through  the  window.  Something 
formless  and  frightened  throbbed  in  the  darkness. 
It  wept,  lashed  the  window  with  a  doleful  howl, 


ti6  THE  SPY 

scraped  along  the  wall,  jumped  on  the  roof,  and 
fell  down  into  the  street  moaning  and  wailing.  A 
cautious  seductive  thought  stole  into  his  mind. 

"  Suppose  I  tell  Kapiton  Ivanovich  to-morrow 
that  she  suffocated  the  old  man !  " 

The  question  frightened  Yevsey,  and  for  a  long 
time  he  was  unable  to  push  it  away. 

"  She  will  ruin  me,  one  way  or  the  other,"  he 
answered  himself.  Yet  the  question  persistently 
stood  before  him  beckoning  to  him. 

In  the  morning,  however,  it  seemed  that  Rayisa 
had  forgotten  about  the  tragic,  violent  incident  of 
the  night  before.  She  gave  him  his  bread  and 
coffee  lazily  and  with  an  indifferent  air.  As  al- 
ways, she  was  half  sick  from  the  previous  day's 
drinking.  By  neither  word  nor  look  did  she  hint 
of  her  changed  relation  to  him. 

He  left  for  the  office  somewhat  calmed,  and 
from  that  day  he  began  to  remain  in  the  office 
for  night  work.  He  would  walk  home  very  slowly 
so  as  to  arrive  as  late  as  possible,  because  it  was 
difficult  for  him  to  remain  alone  with  the  woman. 
He  was  afraid  to  speak  to  her,  dreading  lest  she 
remember  that  night  when  she  had  destroyed  Yev- 
sey's  feeling  for  her.  Feeble  though  it  had  been,  it 
had  yet  been  dear  to  him. 

Yakov  Zarubin  and  Yevsey's  chief,  Kapiton 
Ivanovich,  the  man  with  the  grey  mustache,  whom 
everybody  called  Smokestack  behind  his  back,  re- 
mained in  the  chancery  with  him  for  night  work 


THE  SPY  117 

more  frequently  than  the  others.  The  chiefs 
shaven  face  was  often  covered  with  little  red  stub- 
ble, which  glistened  golden  from  afar,  and  at  close 
range  resembled  tiny  twigs.  From  under  his  grey 
lashes  and  the  eyelids  that  drooped  wearily  spirit- 
less eyes  gleamed  angrily.  He  spoke  in  a  grum- 
bling growl,  and  incessantly  smoked  thick  yellow 
cigarettes.  The  clouds  of  bluish  smoke  always 
hovering  about  his  large  white  head  distinguished 
him  from  all  the  others  workers,  and  won  him  the 
nickname,  Smokestack. 

"  What  a  grave  man  he  is,"  Yevsey  once  said 
to  Zarubin. 

"  He's  cracked  in  the  upper  story,"  Zarubin  an- 
swered, pointing  to  his  head.  "  He  spent  almost 
a  whole  year  in  an  insane  asylum.  But  he's  a  quiet 
man." 

Yevsey  saw  that  sometimes  the  Smokestack  took 
a  small  black  book  from  the  pocket  of  his  long 
grey  jacket,  brought  it  close  to  his  face,  and  mum- 
bled something  through  his  mustache,  which  moved 
up  and  down. 

"  Is  that  a  prayer-book?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

Zarubin's  swarthy  face  quivered  spasmodically. 
His  little  eyes  bulged,  he  swung  himself  over  to- 
ward Yevsey,  and  whispered  hotly. 

"  Do  you  go  to  girls?  " 

11  No." 

"Why?" 


n8  THE  SPY 

Yevsey  answered  in  embarrassment: 

"  I'm  afraid." 

"  Ugh!  Come  with  me.  All  right?  We_£aji 
ge^i^foxjiQthing,.  We  need  only  twenty-five  ko- 
peks for  beer.  If  we  say  we  are  from  the  Depart- 
ment of  Police,  they'll  let  us  in,  and  give  us  girls 
for  nothing.  They  are  afraid  of  police  officers. 
Everybody  is  afraid  of  us."  In  a  still  lower  voice, 
but  with  more  fire  and  appetite  he  continued. 
"  And  what  girls  there  are!  Stout,  warm,  like 
down  feather-beds!  They're  the  best,  by  golly! 
Some  fondle  you  like  your  own  mother,  stroke 
your  head,  and  so  you  fall  asleep.     It's  good !  " 

11  Have  you  a  mother?  " 

11  Yes,  only  I  live  with  my  aunt.  My  mother 
is  a  sow.  She's  a  lewd  woman,  and  lives  with  a 
butcher  for  her  support.  I  don't  go  to  her.  The 
butcher  won't  let  me.  Once  I  went  there,  and  he 
kicked  me  on  the  back.     Ugh !  " 

Zarubin's  little  mouse  ears  quivered,  his  narrow 
eyes  rolled  queerly,  he  tugged  at  the  black  down 
on  his  upper  lip  with  a  convulsive  movement  of 
his  fingers,  and  throbbed  all  over  with  excitement. 

"  Why  are  you  such  a  quiet  fellow?  You  ought 
to  be  bolder,  or  else  they'll  crush  you  with  work. 
I  was  afraid  at  first,  too,  so  they  rode  all  over 
me.  Come,  let's  be  friends  for  the  rest  of  our 
lives!" 

Though  Yevsey  did  not  like  Zarubin  and  was 
intimidated  by  his  extreme  agility,  he  replied: 


THE  SPY  119 


"  All  right.     Let's  be  friends." 

"  Your  hand.  There,  it's  done !  So  to-morrow 
we'll  go  to  the  girls?  " 

"  No,  I  won't  go." 

They  did  not  notice  the  Smokestack  coming  up 
to  them. 

"Well,  Yakov,  who  will  do  whom?"  he 
growled. 

"  We're  not  fighting,"  said  Zarubin,  sullenly 
and  disrespectfully. 

"  You  lie,"  said  the  Smokestack.  "  Say,  Klim- 
kov,  don't  give  in  to  him,  do  you  hear?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Yevsey  rising  before  him. 

A  feeling  of  reverent  curiosity  drew  him  to  the 
man.  Once,  as  usual  unexpectedly  to  himself,  he 
took  courage  to  speak  to  the  Smokestack. 

"  Kapiton  Ivanovich." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  want  to  ask  you,  if  you  please  — " 

Without  looking  at  him,  the  Smokestack  said: 

"  Get  up  some  spunk!     Get  up  some  spunk!  " 

"Why  do  people  live  so  badly?"  Yevsey 
brought  out  with  a  great  effort. 

The  old  man  raised  his  heavy  brows. 

"What  business  is  it  of  yours?"  he  rejoined, 
looking  into  Klimkov's  face. 

Yevsey  was  staggered.  The  old  man's  ques- 
tion was  like  a  blow  on  the  chest.  It  stood  be- 
fore him  in  all  the  power  of  its  inexplicable  sim- 
plicity. 


120  THE  SPY 


"  Aha !  "  said  the  old  man  quietly.  Then  he 
drew  his  brows  together,  whipped  a  black  book 
from  his  pocket,  and  tapping  it  with  his  finger  said, 
"  The  New  Testament.     Have  you  read  it?  " 

11  Yes." 

11  Did  you  understand  it?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Yevsey  timidly. 

"  Read  it  again.  Well,  anyway  — "  Moving 
his  mustache  the  old  man  hid  the  book  in  his 
pocket.  "  I've  been  reading  this  book  for  three 
years,  yes,  three  years.  Nobody  understands  it. 
It's  a  book  for  children,  for  the  pure  of  heart. 
No  one  can  understand  it." 

He  grumbled  kindly,  and  Yevsey  felt  a  desire 
to  ask  more  questions.  They  did  not  formulate 
themselves,  however.  The  old  man  lighted  a 
cigarette,  the  smoke  enveloped  him,  and  he  ap- 
parently forgot  about  his  interlocutor.  Klimkov 
glided  off  quietly.  His  attraction  for  the  Smoke- 
stack had  grown  stronger,  and  he  thought: 

"  It  would  be  good  for  me  to  sit  nearer  to  him." 

Henceforth  this  became  his  dream,  which,  how- 
ever, came  into  direct  conflict  with  the  dream  of 
Yakov  Zarubin. 

"  You  know  what?  "  Zarubin  said  in  a  hot  whis- 
per. "  Let's  try  to  get  into  the  Department  of 
Safety,  and  become  political  spies.  Then  what  a 
life  we'll  lead!     Ugh!" 

Yevsey  was  silent.  The  political  spies  fright- 
ened him  because  of  their  stern  eyes  and  the  mys- 
tery surrounding  their  dark  business  and  dark  life. 


CHAPTER  X 

AN  accident  happened  at  home.  Dorimedont 
appeared  late  at  night  in  torn  clothes,  with- 
out hat  or  cane,  his  face  bruised  and  smeared  with 
blood.  His  bulky  body  shook,  tears  ran  down 
his  swollen  cheeks.  He  sobbed,  and  said  in  a 
hollow  voice: 

"  It's  all  over!  I  must  go  away  —  to  another 
city  —  the  minute  I  can." 

Rayisa  silently,  without  haste,  wiped  his  face 
with  a  towel  dipped  in  brandy  and  water.  He 
started  and  groaned. 

11  Not  so  rough !  Not  so  rough !  The  beasts ! 
How  they  beat  me  —  with  clubs.  To  beat  a  man 
with  clubs !  Please  be  more  careful.  Don't  you 
understand?  " 

Yevsey  handed  the  water,  removed  the  spy's 
shoes,  and  listened  to  his  groans.  He  took  se- 
cret satisfaction  in  his  tears  and  blood.  Accus- 
tomed as  he  was  to  see  people  beaten  until  blood 
was  drawn,  their  outcries  did  not  touch  him  even 
though  he  remembered  the  pain  of  the  pummel- 
ings  he  had  received  in  his  childhood. 

"Who  did  it  to  you?"  asked  Rayisa  when  the 
spy  was  settled  in  bed. 

121 


m  THE  SPY 

44  They  trapped  me,  surrounded  me,  in  a  suburb 
near  a  thread  factory.  Now  I  must  go  to  another 
city.     I  will  ask  for  a  transfer." 

When  Yevsey  lay  down  to  sleep,  the  spy  and 
Rayisa  began  to  quarrel  aloud. 

14  I  won't  go,"  said  the  woman  in  a  loud  and 
unusually  firm  voice. 

14  Keep  quiet!  Don't  excite  a  sick  man!  "  the 
spy  exclaimed  with  tears  in  his  voice. 

"I  won't  go!" 

44  I  will  make  you." 

In  the  morning  Yevsey  understood  by  Rayisa's 
stony  face  and  the  spy's  angry  excitement  that  the 
two  did  not  agree.  At  supper  they  began  to 
quarrel  again.  The  spy,  who  had  grown  stronger 
during  the  day,  cursed  and  swore.  His  swollen 
blue  face  was  horrible  to  look  upon,  his  right  hand 
was  in  a  sling,  and  he  shook  his  left  hand  menac- 
ingly. Rayisa,  pale  and  imperturbable,  rolled  her 
round  eyes,  and  followed  the  swinging  of  his  red 
hand. 

44  Never,  I'll  never  go,"  she  stubbornly  repeated, 
scarcely  varying  her  words. 

"Why  not?" 

44 1  don't  want  to." 

44  But  you  know  I  can  ruin  you." 

44 1  don't  care." 

44  No,  you'll  go." 

44 1  won't." 


THE  SPY  123 

"  We  shall  see.  Who  are  you  anyway?  Have 
you  forgotten?" 

"  It's  all  the  same  to  me." 

11  All  right." 

After  supper  the  spy  wrapped  his  face  in  his 
scarf,  and  departed  without  saying  anything. 
Rayisa  sent  Yevsey  for  whiskey.  When  he  had 
brought  her  a  bottle  of  table  whiskey  and  an- 
other bottle  of  some  dark  liquid,  she  poured  a 
portion  of  the  contents  of  each  into  a  cup,  sipped 
the  entire  draught,  and  remained  standing  a  long 
time  with  her  eyes  screwed  up  and  wiping  her 
neck  with  the  palm  of  her  hand. 

"  Do  you  want  some?  "  she  asked,  nodding  over 
the  bottle.  "No?  Take  a  drink.  You'll  be- 
gin to  drink  some  time  or  other  anyway." 

Yevsey  looked  at  her  high  bosom,  which  had  al- 
ready begun  to  wither,  at  her  little  mouth,  into 
her  round  dimmed  eyes,  and  remembering  how 
she  had  been  before,  he  pitied  her  with  a  melan- 
choly pity.  He  felt  heavy  and  gloomy  in  the 
presence  of  this  woman. 

"  Ah,  Yevsey,"  she  said,   "  if  one  could  only  x 
live  his  whole  life  with  a  clean  conscience." 

Her  lips  twitched  spasmodically.  She  filled  a 
cup  and  offered  it  to  him.^ 

"Drink!" 

He  shook  his  head  in  declination. 

11  You    little    coward ! "    she    laughed    quietly. 


i24  THE  SPY 

"  Life  is  hard  for  you  —  I  understand.  But  why 
you  live  I  don't  understand.     Why?     Tell  me." 

"  Just  so,"  answered  Yevsey  gloomily.  "  I 
live.     What  else  is  one  to  do?  " 

Rayisa  looked  at  him,  and  said  tenderly : 

"  I  think  you  are  going  to  choke  yourself." 

Yevsey  was  aggrieved  and  sighed.  He  settled 
himself  more  firmly  in  his  chair. 

Rayisa  paced  through  the  room,  stepping  lazily 
and  inaudibly.  She  stopped  before  a  mirror,  and 
looked  at  her  face  long  without  winking.  She 
felt  her  full  white  neck  with  her  hands,  her  shoul- 
ders quivered,  her  hands  dropped  heavily,  and  she 
began  again  to  pace  the  room,  her  hips  moving  up 
and  down.  She  hummed  without  opening  her 
mouth.  Her  voice  was  stifled  like  the  groan  of 
one  who  suffers  from  toothache. 

A  lamp  covered  with  a  green  shade  was  burning 
on  the  table.  Through  the  window  the  round  disk 
of  the  moon  could  be  seen  in  the  vacant  heavens. 
The  moon,  too,  looked  green,  as  it  hung  there  mo- 
tionless like  the  shadows  in  the  room,  and  it  au- 
gured ill. 

"  I  am  going  to  bed,"  said  Yevsey  rising  from 
his  chair. 

Rayisa  did  not  answer,  and  did  not  look  at 
him.  Then  he  stepped  to  the  door,  and  repeated 
in  a  lower  voice: 

11  Good-night.     I  am  going  to  sleep." 


3,  r„ 


THE  SPY  125 

"  Go^m  not  keeping  you.     Go." 

Yevsey  understood  that  Rayisa  felt  nauseated. 
He  wanted  to  tell  her  something. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you?"  he  inquired, 
stopping  at  the  door. 

She  looked  into  his  face  with  her  weary  sleepy 
eyes. 

11  No,  nothing,"  she  answered  quietly  after  a 
pause. 

She  walked  up  and  down  in  the  room  for  a  long 
time.  Yevsey  heard  the  rustle  of  her  skirt  and 
the  doleful  sound  of  her  song,  and  the  clinking 
of  the  bottles.     Occasionally  she  coughed  dully. 

Rayisa's  composed  words  stood  motionless  in 
Yevsey's  heart,  "  I  think  you  are  going  to  choke 
yourself."  They  lay  upon  him  heavily,  pressing 
like    stones. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  the  spy  awoke  Klim- 
kov  rudely. 

"  Where  is  Rayisa?  "  he  asked  in  a  loud  whis- 
per. "Where  did  she  go?  Has  she  been  gone 
long?     You  don't  know?     You  fool!" 

Dorimedont  left  the  room  hastily,  then  thrust 
his  head  through  the  door,  and  asked  sternly: 

u  What  was  she  doing?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"Was  she  drinking?" 

"  Yes." 

"The  pig!" 


126  THE  SPY 

The  spy  pulled  his  ear,  and  disappeared. 

"Why  did  he  speak  in  a  whisper?"  Yevsey 
wondered. 

The  light  in  the  lamp  flickered  and  went  out. 
The  spy  uttered  an  oath,  then  began  to  strike 
matches,  which  flared  up,  "frightening  the  darkness, 
and  went  out.  Finally  a  pale  ray  from  the  room 
reached  Yevsey's  bed.  It  quivered  timidly,  and 
seemed  to  seek  something  in  the  narrow  ante-room. 
Dorimedont  entered  again.  One  of  his  eyes  was 
closed  from  the  swelling,  the  other,  light  and  rest- 
less, quickly  looked  about  the  walls,  and  halted  at 
Yevsey's  face. 

11  Didn't  Rayisa  say  anything  to  you?" 

11  No." 

"  Such  a  stupid  woman !  " 

Yevsey  felt  awkward  to  be  lying  down  in  the 
presence  of  the  spy,  and  he  raised  himself. 

"  Stay  where  you  are!  Stay  where  you  are!  " 
said  Dorimedont  hastily,  and  sat  down  on  the  bed 
at  Yevsey's  feet. 

"  If  you  were  a  year  older,"  he  began  in  an  un- 
usually kind,  quiet,  and  thoughtful  tone,  "  I  would 
get  you  into  the  Department  of  Safety  as  a  political 
agent.  It's  a  very  good  position.  The  salary  is 
not  large,  but  if  you  are  successful,  you  get  re- 
warded. And  it's  a  free  life.  You  can  go  wher- 
ever you  want,  have  a  good  time,  yes,  indeed,, 
Rayisa  is  a  beautiful  woman,  isn't  she?  " 

"  Yes,  beautiful,"  agreed  Yevsey. 


THE  SPY  127 

"  Yes,  ahem,"  said  the  spy,  with  a  sigh  and  a 
strange  smile.  He  kept  stroking  the  bandage  on 
his  head  with  his  left  hand,  and  pinching  his  ear. 
"  Woman  you  can  never  have  enough  of  —  the 
mother  of  temptation  and  sin. —  Where  did  she 
go?     What  do  you  think?  " 

14 1  don't  know,"  answered  Yevsey  quietly,  be- 
ginning to  be  afraid  of  something. 

"  Of  course.  She  has  no  paramour.  No  men 
came  to  her.  Do  you  know  what,  Yevsey? 
Don't  be  in  a  hurry  with  women.  You  have  time 
enough  for  that.  They  cost  dear,  brother.  Here 
am  I,  who  have  made  thousands  and  thousands  of 
rubles,  and  what's  become  of  them?" 

Heavy,  cumbersome,  bound  with  rags,  he  shook 
before  Yevsey's  eyes,  and  seemed  ready  to  fall  to 
pieces.  His  dull  voice  sounded  uneasy.  His  left 
hand  constantly  felt  of  his  head  and  his  breast. 

11  Ah,  I  got  mixed  up  with  them  a  great  deal !  " 
he  said  peering  suspiciously  around  the  dark  cor- 
ners of  the  room.  "  It's  troublesome,  but  you  can't 
get  along  without  them.  Nothing  better  in  the 
world.  Some  say  cards  are  better,  but  card-play- 
ers can't  get  along  without  women  either.  Nor 
does  hunting  make  you  proof  against  women. 
Nothing  does." 

In  the  morning  Klimkov  saw  the  spy  sleeping 
on  the  sofa  with  his  clothes  on.  The  room  was 
filled  with  smoke  and  the  smell  of  kerosene  from  the 
lamp,  which  had  not  been  extinguished.     Dorime- 


128  THE  SPY 

dont  was  snoring,  his  large  mouth  wide  open,  his 
sound  hand  dangling  over  the  floor.  He  was  re- 
pulsive and  pitiful. 

It  grew  light,  and  a  pale  square  piece  of  sky 
peeped  into  the  little  window.  The  flies  awoke, 
and  buzzed  plaintively,  darting  about  on  the  grey 
background  of  the  window.  Besides  the  smell  of 
kerosene  the  room  was  penetrated  with  some  other 
odor,  thick  and  irritating. 

After  putting  out  the  lamp  Yevsey  for  some  rea- 
son washed  himself  in  a  great  hurry,  dressed,  and 
started  for  the  office. 


31 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  T  about  noon  Zarubin  called  out  to  Yevsey. 

"  Hey  there,  Klimkov,  you  know  Rayisa  Pe- 
trovna  Fialkovskaya,  she's  your  master  Lukin's 
mistress,  isn't  she?  " 

"  Yes." 

"There  now!" 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  asked  Yevsey  hastily. 

"  She  cut  her  throat." 

Yevsey  rose  to  his  feet,  stung  in  the  back  by  a 
sharp  blow  of  terror. 

"  She  was  just  found  in  a  store-room.  Let's  go 
and  look." 

Zarubin  ran  off,  announcing  to  the  clerks  on  his 
way: 

M  I  told  you  she  was  Dorimedont  Lukin's  mis- 
tress." 

He  shouted  the  word  "  mistress  "  with  particu- 
lar emphasis  and  zest. 

Yevsey  looked  after  him  with  wide-open  eyes. 
Before  him  in  the  air  hung  Rayisa's  head,  her 
heavy  luxuriant  hair  flowed  from  it  in  streams,  her 
face  was  pale  green,  her  lips  were  tightly  com- 
pressed, and  instead  of  eyes  there  were  deep  dark 
stains.     Everything  round  about  him  was  hidden 

129 


< 


128'  THE    SPY 

behind  the  dead  face,  which  Yevsey,  numb  with 
terror  and  pity,  was  unable  to  remove  from  his 
vision. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  lunch?''  asked  the 
Smokestack. 

Scarcely  anybody  remained  in  the  office.  Yev- 
sey sighed  and  answered: 

11  My  mistress  cut  her  throat." 

"  Oh,  yes.     Well,  go  to  the  cafe." 

The  Smokestack  walked  off  carefully  picking  his 
steps.     Yevsey  jumped  up  and  seized  his  hand : 

"  Take  me." 

"  Come." 

44  No,  take  me  to  stay  with  you  altogether,"  Yev- 
sey besought  him. 

The  Smokestack  bent  toward  him. 

14  What  do  you  mean  by  '  altogether?  '  " 

14  To  your  rooms  —  to  live  with  you  —  for  all 
the  time." 

44  Aha !  Well,  in  the  meantime  let's  get  our 
lunch.     Come  on." 

In  the  cafe  a  canary  bird  kept  up  a  piercing  song. 
The  old  man  silently  ate  fried  potatoes.  Yevsey 
was  unable  to  eat,  and  looked  into  his  compan- 
ion's face  inquiringly. 

44  So  you  want  to  live  with  me?  Well,  come 
on. 

When  Yevsey  heard  these  words,  he  instantly 
felt  that  they  partitioned  him  off  from  the  terrible 
life.     Encouraged  he  said  gratefully: 


THE  SPY  131 

"  I  will  clean  your  shoes  for  you." 

The  Smokestack  thrust  his  long  foot  shod  in  a 
torn  boot  from  under  the  table. 

"  You  needn't  clean  this  one.  How  about  your 
mistress?     Was  she  a  good  woman?  " 

The  old  man's  eyes  looked  directly  and  kindly, 
and  seemed  to  say: 

"  Speak  the  truth." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Yevsey,  dropping  his 
head,  and  for  the  first  time  feeling  that  he  used  the 
phrase  very  often. 

"  So?  "  said  the  Smokestack.     "  So  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything,"  said  Yevsey,  disap- 
pointed with  himself.  Suddenly  he  grew  bold. 
"  I  see  this  and  that;  but  what  it  is,  what  for,  why, 
I  cannot  understand.  And  there  must  be  another 
life." 

"  Another?  "  repeated  the  Smokestack,  screwing 
up  his  eyes. 

"  Yes.     It  would  be  impossible  otherwise." 

The  Smokestack  smiled  quietly.  He  hit  his 
knife  on  the  table,  and  shouted  to  the  waiter: 

"A  bottle  of  beer.  So  it  can't  be  otherwise? 
That's  curious.  Yes  —  we'll  see  who  will  do 
whom." 

"  Do,  please,  let  me  live  with  you,"  Yevsey  re- 
peated. 

"  Well,  we'll  live  together.     All  right." 

"  I'll  come  to  you  to-day." 

"  Come  on." 


132  THE  SPY 

The  Smokestack  began  to  drink  his  beer  in  si- 
lence. 

When  they  returned  to  the  office,  they  found 
Dorimedont  Lukin  there,  who  hastened  up  to  Yev- 
sey.  His  bandages  had  loosened,  the  one  eye  vis- 
ible was  suffused  with  blood. 

"Did  you  hear  about  Rayisa?"  he  inquired 
gravely. 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  She  did  it  out  of  —  it  was  drink  that  did  it, 
upon  my  word,"  whispered  the  spy,  putting  his  un- 
injured hand  to  his  breast. 

"  I  won't  go  back  there  any  more,"  said  Yev- 
sey. 

"What  then?     Where  will  you  go?" 

"  I  am  going  to  live  with  Kapiton  Ivanovich." 

"Um-m-m!" 

Dorimedont  suddenly  became  embarrassed,  and 
looked  around. 

"  Take  care !  He's  not  in  his  right  senses. 
They  keep  him  here  from  pity.  He's  even  a 
dangerous  man.  Be  careful  with  him.  Keep 
mum  about  all  you  know." 

Yevsey  thought  the  spy  would  fly  into  a  pas- 
sion. He  was  surprised  at  his  whispering,  and 
listened  attentively  to  what  he  said. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  the  city.  Good-by.  I 
am  going  to  tell  my  chief  about  you,  and  when  he 
needs  a  new  man,  he  will  take  you,  rest  assured. 
Move  your  bed  and  whatever  there  is  in  my  rooms 


THE  SPY  133 

to  your  new  quarters.  Take  the  things  to-day, 
do  you  hear?  I'll  go  from  there  this  evening  to  a 
hotel.  Here  are  five  rubles  for  you.  They'll  be 
useful  to  you.  Now,  keep  quiet,  do  you  under- 
stand?" 

He  continued  to  whisper  long  and  rapidly,  his 
eyes  running  about  suspiciously  on  all  sides,  and 
when  the  door  opened  he  started  from  his  chair 
as  if  to  run  away.  The  smell  of  an  ointment 
emanated  from  him.  He  seemed  to  have  grown 
less  bulky  and  lower  in  stature,  and  to  have  lost 
his  importance. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  placing  his  hand  on  Yev- 
sey's  shoulder.  "  Live  carefully,  don't  trust  peo- 
ple, especially  women.  Know  the  value  of  money. 
Buy  with  silver,  save  the  gold,  don't  scorn  copper, 
defend  yourself  with  iron  —  a  Cossack  saying.  I 
am  a  Cossack,  you  know." 

It  was  hard  and  tiresome  for  Yevsey  to  listen  to 
his  softened  voice.  He  did  not  believe  one  word 
of  the  spy's,  and,  as  always,  feared  him.  Klimkov 
felt  relieved  when  he  walked  away,  and  went  ea- 
gerly at  his  work,  trying  to  use  it  as  a  shield  against 
the  recollection  of  Rayisa  and  all  other  trouble- 
some thoughts.  Something  turned  and  bestirred 
itself  within  him  that  day.  He  felt  he  was  stand- 
ing on  the  eve  of  another  life,  and  gazed  after  the 
Smokestack  from  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  The  old 
man  bent  over  his  table  in  a  cloud  of  grey  smoke. 
Yevsey  involuntarily  thought: 


i34  THE  SPY 

"  How  everything  happens  at  once.  There  she 
cut  her  throat,  and  now  maybe  I  will  — " 

He  could  not  picture  to  himself  what  might  be ; 
in  fact,  he  did  not  understand  what  he  wanted,  and 
impatiently  awaited  the  evening,  working  quickly 
in  an  endeavor  to  shorten  the  time. 

In  the  evening  as  he  walked  along  the  street  at 
^the  Smokestack's  side,  he  remarked  that  almost 
everybody  noticed  the  old  man,  some  even  stop- 
ping to  look  at  him.  He  walked  not  rapidly  but  in 
long  strides,  swinging  his  body  and  thrusting  his 
head  forward  like  a  crane.  He  held  his  hands  be- 
hind his  back,  and  his  open  jacket  spreading  wide 
flapped  against  his  sides  like  broken  wings.  In 
Klimkov's  eyes  the  attention  the  old  man  attracted 
seemed  to  sever  him  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 

"  What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Yevsey." 

"  John  is  a  good  name,"  observed  the  old  man, 
arranging  his  crumpled  hat  with  his  long  hand. 
"  I  had  a  son  named  John." 

"Where  is  he?  " 

"  That  doesn't  concern  you,"  answered  the  old 
man  calmly.  After  taking  several  steps  he  added 
in  the  same  tone,   ■  ■  If  I  say  *  had,'  that  means 

I  have  him  no  longer,  no  longer."     He  stuck  out 
his  lower  lip,  and  pinched  it  with  his  little  finger. 

II  We  shall  see  who  will  do  whom."     Now  he  in- 
clined his  head  on  one  side,  and  looked  into  Klim- 

.  kov's  eyes.     "  To-day  a  friend  will  come  to  me," 


THE  SPY  135 

he  said  solemnly,  shaking  his  finger.  "  I  have  a 
I  certain  friend.  What  we  speak  about  and  what 
we  do,  does  not  concern  you.  What  you  know  I 
do  not  know,  and  what  you  do  I  do  not  want  to 
know.     The  same  applies  to  you.     Absolutely." 

Yevsey  nodded  his  head. 

"  You  must  make  this  a  general  rule.  Apply 
it  to  everybody.  No  one  knows  anything  about 
you.  That's  the  way  it  should  be.  And  you  do 
not  know  anything  about  others.  The  path  of 
human  destruction  is  knowledge  sown  by  the  devil. 
Happiness  is  ignorance.     That's  plain." 

Yevsey  listened  attentively,  looking  into  his 
face.  The  old  man  observed  his  regard,  and 
grumbled : 

"  There  is  something  human  in  you.  I  noticed 
it."  He  stopped  unexpectedly,  then  went  on, 
"  But  there's  something  human  even  in  a  dog." 

They  climbed  a  narrow  wooden  stairway  with 
several  windings  to  a  stifling  garret,  dark  and  smell- 
ing of  dust.  At  the  Smokestack's  request  Yevsey 
held  up  burning  matches  while  he  fumbled  a  long 
time  over  opening  the  door.  As  Yevsey  held  up 
the  matches,  which  scorched  his  fingers,  a  new  hope 
flickered  in  his  breast. 

At  last  the  old  man  opened  the  door,  covered 
with  torn  oilcloth  and  ragged  felt,  and  they  entered 
a  long,  narrow  white  room,  with  a  ceiling  resem- 
bling the  roof  of  a  tomb.  Opposite  the  door  a 
wide  window  gleamed  dimly.     In  the  corner  to 


136  THE  SPY 

the  right  of  the  entrance  stood  a  little  stove,  which 
was  scarcely  noticeable.  The  bed  extended  along 
the  left  wall,  and  opposite  sprawled  a  sunken  red 
sofa.  The  room  smelled  strongly  of  camphor  and 
dried  herbs.  The  old  man  opened  the  window, 
and  heaved  a  noisy  breath. 

"  It's  good  to  have  pure  air.  You  will  sleep  on 
the  sofa.  What  is  your  name?  I've  forgotten. 
Aleksey?" 

"  Yevsey." 

"  Oh,  yes."  He  raised  the  lamp,  and  pointed 
to  the  wall.     "  There's  my  son  John." 

A  portrait  made  in  thin  pencil  strokes  and  set  in 
a  narrow  white  frame  hung  inconspicuously  upon 
the  wall.  It  was  a  young  but  stern  face,  with  a 
large  forehead,  a  sharp  nose,  and  stubbornly  com- 
pressed lips.  The  lamp  shook  in  the  old  man's 
hands,  the  shade  knocked  against  the  chimney,  fill- 
ing the  room  with  a  gentle  whining  sound. 

"  John,"  he  repeated,  setting  the  lamp  back  on 
the  table.     "  A  man's  name  means  a  great  deal." 

He  thrust  his  head  through  the  window, 
breathed  in  the  cold  air  noisily,  and  without  turn- 
ing to  Yevsey  asked  him  to  prepare  the  samovar. 

When  Yevsey  was  busying  himself  around  the 
oven,  a  hunch-backed  man  entered,  removed  his 
straw  hat  in  silence,  and  fanned  his  face  with  it. 

"  It's  close,  even  though  it's  autumn  already," 
he  said  in  a  beautiful  chest  voice. 

"  Aha,  you  here !  "  said  the  Smokestack. 


THE  SPY  137 

They  began  to  converse  in  low  tones  while 
standing  at  the  window.  Yevsey  realizing  that 
they  were  speaking  about  him  strained  his  ears  to 
catch  what  they  were  saying.  But  he  could  not 
distinguish  any  words. 

The  three  then  seated  themselves  at  the  table, 
and  the  Smokestack  began  to  pour  the  tea.  Yev- 
sey from  time  to  time  stole  a  look  at  the  guest. 
His  face,  shaven  like  the  Smokestack's,  was  bluish 
with  a  huge  thin-lipped  mouth  and  dark  eyes  sunk 
in  two  hollows  under  a  high  smooth  forehead. 
His  head,  bald  to  the  crown,  was  angular  and 
large.  He  kept  drumming  quietly  on  the  table 
with  his  long  fingers. 

"  Well,  read,"  said  the  Smokestack. 

"  From  the  beginning?  " 

"  Yes." 

The  hunch-back  pulled  out  a  package  of  papers 
from  his  coat-pocket  and  opened  it.  "  I'll  skip  the 
titles.  This  is  the  way  I've  done  it."  He 
coughed,  and  half  closing  his  eyes  began  to  read. 
"  *  We  people  known  to  nobody  and  already  ar- 
rived at  a  ripe  age  now  fall  slavishly  at  your  feet 
with  this  distressing  statement  of  grievances,  which 
wells  from  the  very  depths  of  our  hearts,  our  hearts 
shattered  by  life  but  not  robbed  of  sacred  faith  in 
the  grace  and  wisdom  of  Your  Majesty.'  Well, 
is  it  good?" 

"  Continue,"  said  the  Smokestack. 

"  *  For  you  are  the  father  of  the  Russian  people, 


i3 8  THE  SPY 

| 

the  source  of  good  counsel,  and  the  only  power  on 
earth  capable  — '  " 

"  Better  say,  '  the  only  power  on  earth  endowed 
with  authority,'  "  suggested  the  Smokestack. 

"  Wait,  ^ait.  The  only  power  capable  of  re- 
storing and  maintaining  order,  justice  — '  Here 
we  must  put  in  a  third  word  for  the  sake  of  symme- 
try, but  I  don't  know  what  word." 

"  Be  more  careful  in  your  choice  of  words,"  said 
the  Smokestack,  sternly  but  not  aloud.  "  Remem- 
ber that  they  convey  a  different  meaning  to  every 
man." 

The  hunchback  looked  at  him,  and  adjusted  his 
glasses. 

"  Yes,  that  will  come  later.  *  Great  Russia  is 
falling  into  ruin.     Evil  is  rampant  in  our  country 

I  and  horror  prevails.  People  are  oppressed  by 
want.  The  heart  has  become  perverted  with  envy. 
The  patient  and  gentle  Russian  is  perishing,  and 
a  heartless  tribe  ferocious  with  greed  is  being  born, 
a  race  of  wolves,  cruel  animals  of  prey.  Faith  is 
dissolved,  and  outside  her  fortress  the  people  stand 
perturbed.  Persons  of  depraved  minds  aim  at 
the  defenseless,  take  them  captive  with  satanic 
shrewdness,  and  entice  them  onto  the  road  of  crime 
against  all  thy  laws,  Master  of  our  lives.'  " 

11 '  Master?  '  That's  for  a  bishop,"  grumbled 
the  Smokestack. 

"Don't  you  like  it?" 

"  No,  we  must  make  it  ■  different." 


THE  SPY  139 

"How?" 

"  We  must  tell  him  directly  that  a  general  re- 
volt against  life  is  stirring  among  the  people,  and 
that  '  therefore  Thou,  who  art  called  by  God  — '  " 

The  hunchback  shook  his  head  disapprovingly. 

"  We  may  point  out.  We  have  no  right  to  ad- 
vise." 

"  Who  is  our  enemy,  and  what  is  his  name? 
Atheist,  Socialist,  and  Revolutionist,  a  trinity. 
ithe  destroyer  of  the  family,  the  robber  of  our  chil- 
dren,  the  fore-runner  of  the  anti-Christ." 

"  You  and  I  don't  believe  in  the  anti-Christ," 
said  the  hunchback  quietly. 

"  That  doesn't  matter.  We  are  speaking  of 
the  masses.  They  believe  in  the  anti-Christ.  And 
we  must  point  out  the  root  of  the  main  evil  where 
we  see  it.     In  the  doctrine  of  destruction  — " 

"  He  knows  it  himself." 

"  How  should  he?  Who  would  tell  him  the 
truth?  Nobody  cast  the  noose  of  insanity  around 
his  children.  And  on  what  are  their  teachings 
based?  On  general  poverty  and  discontent  with 
poverty.  And  we  ought  to  say  to  him  straight 
out,  '  Thou  art  the  father,  and  thou  art  rich. 
Then  give  the  riches  thou  hast  accumulated  to  thy 
people.  Thus  thou  wilt  cut  off  the  root  of  the 
evil,  and  everything  will  have  been  saved  by  thy 
hand.'  " 

The  hunchback  drew  up  his  shoulders,  and 
spread  his  mouth  into  a  wide,  thin  crack. 


140  THE  SPY 

"  They'll  send  us  to  the  mines  for  that." 

Then  he  looked  into  Yevsey's  face  and  at  the 
master. 

Klimkov  listened  to  the  reading  and  the  con- 
versation as  to  a  fairytale,  and  felt  that  all  the 
words  entered  his  head  and  fixed  themselves  for- 
ever in  his  memory.  With  parted  lips  and  pop- 
ping eyes  he  looked  now  at  one,  now  at  the  other, 
and  did  not  drop  his  gaze  even  when  the  dark  look 
of  the  hunchback  fastened  upon  his  face.  He  was 
fascinated  by  the  proceedings. 

u  Anyway,"  said  the  hunchback,  "  this  is  incon- 
venient." 

"  What  is  it,  Klimkov?  "  asked  the  Smokestack 
glumly. 

Yevsey's  throat  grew  dry,  and  he  did  not  an- 
swer at  once. 

"  I  am  listening." 

Suddenly  he  realized  by  their  faces  that  they 
did  not  believe  him,  that  they  were  afraid  of  him. 
He  rose  from  the  table,  and  said  getting  his  words 
mixed : 

"  I  won't  say  anything  to  a  soul  —  I  need  it  my- 
self. Please  let  me  listen  — why,  I  myself  said  to 
you,  Kapiton  Ivanovich,  that  things  ought  to  be 
different." 

"  You  see?  "  said  the  Smokestack  crossly,  point- 
ing at  Yevsey.  "  You  see,  Anton,  what  does  it 
mean?     Still  a  boy,  a  little  boy,  yet,  he,  too,  says 


THE  SPY  141 

things  should  be  different.  That's  where  they  get 
their  strength  from." 

11  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  hunchback. 

Yevsey  grew  timid,  and  dropped  back  on  his 
chair.  The  Smokestack  moving  his  eyelids  bent 
toward  him. 

"  I  will  tell  you  —  we  are  writing  a  letter  to  the 
Czar.  We  ask  him  to  take  more  rigorous  meas- 
ures against  those  who  are  under  supervision  for 
political  infidelity.     Do  you  understand?" 

"  I  understand." 

"  Those  people,"  the  hunchback  began  to  say 
clearly  and  slowly,  "  are  agents  of  foreign  govern- 
ments, chiefly  of  England.  They  receive  huge  sal- 
aries for  stirring  up  the  Russian  people  to  revolt 
and  for  weakening  the  power  of  the  government. 
The  Englishmen  do  it  so  that  we  should  not  take 
India  from  them." 

They  spoke  to  Yevsey  by  turns.  When  one  had 
finished,  the  other  took  up  the  word.  He  listened 
attentively  trying  to  remember  their  strange,  elo- 
quent flow  of  language.  Finally,  however,  he 
tired  from  the  unusual  exertion  of  his  brain.  It 
seemed  to  him  he  would  soon  understand  some- 
thing huge,  which  would  illuminate  the  whole  of 
life  and  all  people,  their  entire  misfortune  and  their 
malicious  irritation.  It  was  inexpressibly  pleasant 
for  him  to  recognize  that  two  wise  men  spoke  to 
him  as  to  an  adult,  and  he  was  powerfully  gripped 
by  a  feeling  of  gratitude  and  respect  for  these  men, 


i42  THE  SPY 

poorly  dressed  and  so  preoccupied  with  delibera- 
tions upon  the  construction  of  a  new  life.  But 
now,  his  head  grown  heavy,  as  if  filled  with  lead, 
he  involuntarily  closed  his  eyes,  oppressed  by  a 
painful  sensation  of  fullness  in  his  breast. 

"  Go,  lie  down  and  sleep,"  said  the  Smokestack. 

Klimkov  rose  obediently,  undressed,  and  lay 
down  on  the  sofa. 

The  autumn  night  breathed  warm  fragrant  mois- 
ture into  the  window.  Thousands  and  thousands 
of  bright  stars  quivered  in  the  dark  sky,  flying  up 
higher  and  higher.  The  fire  of  the  lamp  flickered, 
and  likewise  tore  itself  upward.  The  two  men 
bending  toward  each  other  read  and  spoke  gravely 
and  quietly.  Everything  round  about  was  myste- 
rious, awe-inspiring.  It  lifted  Yevsey  upward 
pleasantly,  to  something  new,  to  something  good. 


CHAPTER  XII 

\X7HEN  Yevsey  had  been  living  with  Kapiton 
Ivanovich,  only  a  few  days,  he  began  to  feel 
lie  was  of  some  consequence.  Formerly  he  had 
talked  quietly  and  respectfully  with  the^endarmes 
who  served  in  the  chancery.  Now,  however,  he 
called  the  old  man  Butenko  to  him  in  a  stern  voice, 
in  order  to  administer  a  rebuke. 

"  Look,  flies  in  my  inkstand !  How  can  I  write 
with  flies  in  my  ink?  " 

The  grey  soldier  covered  with  crosses  and  med- 
als entered  into  his  usual  nonchalant,  many-worded 
explanation. 

"  There  are  all  in  all  thirty-four  inkstands  here, 
and  there  are  thousands  of  flies.  All  the  flies  want 
to  drink.  That's  why  they  crawl  into  the  ink- 
stands.    What  are  they  to  do?  " 

"  Wash  it,  and  put  in  fresh  ink,"  ordered  Klim- 
kov.  Then  he  walked  into  the  dressing-room, 
where  he  stationed  himself  before  the  looking- 
glass  and  carefully  regarded  his  thin  face,  grey  and 
angular,  with  its  sharp  little  nose  and  narrow  lips. 
He  searched  for  signs  of  a  mustache,  looked  into 
his  watery  and  uncertain  eyes. 

"  I  must  get  my  hair  cut,"  he  decided  after  fail- 

143 


i44  THE  SPY 

ing  to  smooth  the  thin,  light  tufts  of  hair  on  his 
head.  "  And  I  ought  to  wear  starched  collars;  my 
neck  is  too  thin." 

The  very  same  evening  he  got  his  hair  cut, 
bought  two  collars,  and  felt  himself  still  more  a 
man. 

The  Smokestack  was  attentive  and  kind  in  his 
behavior  toward  Yevsey,  but  often  a  smile  of  de- 
rision gleamed  in  his  eyes  which  somewhat  discon- 
certed and  awed  the  young  fellow.  Whenever  the 
hunchback  came,  the  old  man's  face  assumed  a  pre- 
occupied expression,  and  his  voice  sounded  stern. 
He  cut  short  almost  everything  the  other  man  said 
with  an  objection: 

"  It's  not  that  —  it's  not  so  —  no,  you're  no 
wiser  than  I  am  —  your  brain  is  like  a  poor  gun,  it 
scatters  the  thought  on  all  sides.  You  ought  to 
shoot  so  that  the  whole  charge  goes  in  the  same 
direction." 

The  hunchback  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  an- 
swered in  a  thick  voice : 

"  Wait.  Good  work  cannot  be  done  in  a  day. 
You  must  keep  at  it." 

"  Time  flies,  the  enemy  grows." 

"  By  the  way,  I  noticed  a  man  the  other  day," 
said  the  hunchback,  "  who  took  lodgings  not  far 
from  my  place.  He  was  tall,  had  a  pointed  beard 
and  screwed-up  eyes,  and  walked  quickly.  I  asked 
the  dvornik  where  he  was  working.  He  told  me 
the  man  had  come  to  look  for  a  position.     I  im« 


THE  SPY 


145 


mediately  wrote   a  letter  to   the   Department  of 
Safety.     You  see?  " 

The  Smokestack  interrupted  his  talk  with  a  wide 
sweep  of  his  arm. 

"  That's  not  important.  The  house  is  damp, 
that's  why  there  are  roaches  in  it.  You  won't  get 
rid  of  them  that  way.  The  house  must  be  made 
dry." 

Another  time  in  the  course  of  the  evening  the 
Smokestack  said : 

"  I  am  a  soldier.  I  commanded  half  a  com- 
pany, and  I  understand  life.  It  is  necessary  for 
everybody  to  be  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  laws 
and  regulations.  Such  knowledge  produces  una- 
nimity. What  hinders  knowledge  of  the  law? 
Poverty  and  stupidity;  stupidity  in  itself  being  a 
result  of  poverty.  Why  doesn't  he  fight  poverty? 
In  want  is  the  root  of  human  folly  and  of  hostility 
to  him,  the  Czar." 

Yevsey  greedily  swallowed  the  old  man's  words, 
and  believed  them.  The  root  of  all  human  mis- 
fortune is  poverty.  That  was  clear  and  simple. 
Hence  come  envy,  malice,  cruelty.  Hence  also 
greed  and  the  fear  of  life  common  to  all  people, 
the  apprehension  of  one  another.  The  Smoke- 
stack's plan  was  also  simple.  The  Czar  was  rich, 
the  people  poor;  then  let  the  Czar  give  the  people 
his  riches,  and  all  would  be  contented  and  good. 

^Yevsev's  attitude  toward  people  rhanprfl^     He 
remained  as  obliging  as  before,  but  became  more 


146  THE  SPY 

self-assertive,  and  began  to  look  upon  others  con- 
descendingly, with  the  eyes  of  a  man  who  under- 
stands the  secret  of  life  and  can  point  out  where  the 
road  lies  to  peace  and  calm. 

He  felt  the  need  for  boasting  of  his  knowledge ; 
so  once,  when  lunching  in  the  cafe  with  Yakov 
Zarubin,  he  proudly  expounded  everything  he  had 
heard  from  the  old  man  and  his  hunchback  friend. 

Zarubin's  narrow  eyes  flashed.  He  fidgetted  in 
his  seat,  and  for  some  reason  rumpled  his  hair  by 
thrusting  the  fingers  of  both  hands  through  it. 

"That's  true,  by  golly!  "  he  exclaimed  in  an 
undertone.  "  What  the  devil  —  really !  He  has 
thousands  of  millions,  and  we  are  perishing  here. 
Who  taught  you  all  that?  " 

"  Nobody,"  said  Yevsey  firmly.  "  I  thought 
it  out  myself." 

"  No,  tell  me  the  truth.  Where  did  you  hear 
it?" 

11 1  tell  you,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  myself." 

Yakov  looked  at  him  with  satisfaction. 

"  If  that's  so,"  he  said,  "  you  haven't  a  bad 
head.     But  you're  lying." 

Yevsey  felt  affronted. 

11  It's  all  the  same  to  me  whether  you  believe 
me  or  not.     It's  the  worse  for  you  if  you  don't." 

"  For  me?  "  asked  Yakov,  and  for  some  reason 
burst  out  laughing,  merrily  and  vigorously  rubr 
bing  his  hands.- 

Two  days  later  the  assistant  captain  Komov  ancl 


THE  SPY 


H7 


a  grey-eyed  gentleman  with  a  round  close-cropped 
head  and  a  bored  yellow  face,  came  up  to  Yevsey's 
table. 

"  Klimkov,  betake  yourself  to  the  Department 
of  Safety,"  said  the  captain  clearly  and  ominously. 
"  Is  your  desk  locked? 

"  No." 

Yevsey  rose,  but  his  legs  trembled,  and  he  drop- 
ped into  his  chair  again.  The  crop-haired  man 
drew  nearer. 

"  Permit  me,"  he  said  drily,  then  pulled  out  the 
table  drawer  and  took  out  the  papers. 

Weak  and  uncomprehending  Klimkov  recovered 
his  senses  in  a  half  dark  room  at  a  desk  covered 
with  green  felt.  A  wave  of  anguish  rose  and  fell  in 
his  breast.  The  floor  heaved  and  billowed  under 
his  feet,  and  the  walls  of  the  room,  filled,  as  it  were 
with  green  dusk,  turned  around  steadily.  Over 
the  table  rose  a  man's  white  face  framed  in  a  thick 
black  beard  and  spotted  by  gleaming  blue  eye- 
glasses. Yevsey  kept  his  eyes  fastened  on  the  glass 
of  the  spectacles,  on  the  blue  bottomless  darkness, 
which  drew  him  like  a  magnet  and  seemed  to  suck 
the  blood  from  his  veins.  Without  waiting  for  a 
question  Klimkov  quietly  told  about  the  Smoke- 
stack and  his  hunchback  friend.  He  had  under- 
stood their  talks  well,  and  now  spoke  connectedly 
in  great  detail.  He  seemed  to  be  removing  a  thin 
layer  of  skin  from  his  heart. 

A  high  voice,  which  cut  the  ear,  interrupted  him. 


148  THE  SPY 

"So?  So  these  jackasses  say  the  emperor  the 
Czar  is  the  fault  of  everything?  " 

"  Yes." 

The  man  with  the  blue  glasses  slowly  stretched 
out  his  hand,  put  the  telephone  receiver  to  his  ear, 
and  asked  in  a  sportive  tone: 

"  Belkin,  that  you?  Yes?  See  to  it,  old  fel- 
low, that  search  is  made  to-night  in  the  rooms  of 
two  scoundrels.  Arrest  them.  Eh  —  eh  — -a 
clerk  in  the  chancery  department,  Kapiton  Reiisov. 
Eh  —  eh  —  and  a  functionary  of  the  court  of  ex- 
chequer—  Anton  Driagin —  what?  Well,  yes, 
of  course." 

Yevsey  seized  the  edge  of  the  table  with  his 
hand,  feeling  a  dull  pain  in  his  eyes. 

"  So,  my  friend,"  said  the  man  with  the  black 
beard,  throwing  himself  back  on  the  armchair. 
He  smoothed  his  beard  with  both  hands,  played 
with  his  pencil,  flung  it  on  the  table,  and  thrust  his 
hands  into  his  trousers'  pockets.  He  was  silent  for 
a  painfully  long  time,  then  he  asked  sternly,  em- 
phasizing each  word: 

11  What  am  I  to  do  with  you  now?  " 

11  Forgive  me,"  came  from  Yevsey  in  a  whisper. 

"  Klimkov?  "  mused  the  black-bearded  man,  ig- 
noring Yevsey' s  reply.  M  Seems  to  me  I  heard 
the  name  somewhere." 

"  Forgive  me,"  repeated  Yevsey. 

"  Do  you  feel  yourself  very  guilty?  " 

"  Very." 


THE  SPY  149 

11  That's  good.     What  do  you  feel  guilty  of?  " 

Klimkov  was  silent.  He  felt  as  if  the  black- 
bearded  man  sitting  so  comfortably  and  calmly  in 
his  chair  would  never  let  him  leave  the  room. 

"You  don't  know?     Think!" 

Klimkov  drew  more  air  into  his  lungs,  and  began 
to  tell  of  Rayisa  and  how  she  had  suffocated  the 
old  man. 

"Lukin?"  the  man  with  the  blue  goggles 
queried,  yawning  indifferently.  "  Aha,  that's  why 
your  name  is  familiar  to  me." 

He  walked  over  to  Yevsey,  lifted  his  chin  with 
his  finger,  and  looked  into  his  face  for  a  few 
seconds.     Then  he  rang.  / 

A  heavy  tramp  was  heard,  and  a  big  pockmarked 
fellow  with  huge  wrists  appeared  at  the  door,  and 
looked  at  Yevsey.  He  had  a  terrifying  way  of 
spreading  his  red  fingers  like  claws. 

11  Take  him,   Semyonov." 

"To  the  corner  cell?"  asked  the  fellow  in 
a  hollow  voice. 

11  Yes." 

11  Come,"  said  Semyonov. 

Klimkov  wanted  to  drop  on  his  knees.  He 
Was  already  bending  his  legs,  when  the  fellow 
seized  him  under  the  arm,  and  pulled  him  through 
the  long  corridor,   down  the  stone  stairway. 

"What's  the  matter,  brat?  Frightened?"  he 
said,  pushing  Yevsey  through  a  small  door. 
"  Such  a  spider,  no  face,  no  skin,  yet  a  rebel !  " 


i5o  THE  SPY 

His  words  completely  crushed  Yevsey.  He 
walked  forward  with  out-stretched  hands,  and 
bumped  against  the  wall.  When  he  heard  the 
heavy  clang  of  the  iron  door  behind  him,  he 
squatted  on  the  floor,  putting  his  hands  about 
his  knees  and  raising  his  knees  to  his  drooping 
head.  A  heavy  silence  descended  upon  him.  It 
seemed  to  him  he  would  die  instantly.  Suddenly 
he  jumped  from  the  floor,  and  ran  about  the  room 
like  a  mouse.  His  groping  hands  felt  the  palette 
covered  with  a  rough  blanket,  a  table,  a  chair. 
He  ran  to  the  door,  touched  it,  noticed  in  the  wall 
opposite  a  little  square  window,  and  rushed  toward 
the  window.  It  was  below  the  level  of  the  ground. 
The  area  between  the  ground  and  the  outer  wall 
was  laid  over  with  horizontal  bars  through  which 
the  snow  sifted  with  a  soft  swish,  creeping  down 
the  dirty  panes.  Klimkov  turned  noiselessly 
toward  the  door,  and  leaned  his  forehead  upon  it. 

"  Forgive  me.  Let  me  out,"  he  whispered  in 
his  anguish. 

Then  he  dropped  on  the  floor  again,  and  lost 
consciousness,  drowned  in  a  wave  of  despair. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

'"pHE  days  and  nights  dragged  along  in  black  and 
grey  stripes,  slowly  poisoning  Yevsey's  soul, 
biting  into  it  and  enfeebling  it.  They  crept  by  in 
dumb  stillness,  filled  with  ominous  threats  and 
forebodings.  They  said  nothing  of  when  they 
would  end  their  slow  racking  course.  In  Yevsey's 
soul  everything  grew  silent  and  numb.  He  did 
not  dare,  was  unable  to,  think;  and  when  he  paced 
his  cage,  he  tried  to  make  his  steps  inaudible. 

On  the  tenth  day  he  was  again  set  before  the 
man  in  the  blue  glasses.  The  man  who  had 
brought  him  there  the  first  time  was  also  present. 

"Not  very  pleasant,  eh,  Klimkov?  "  the  dark 
man  asked,  smacking  his  thick  red  lower  lip.  His 
high  voice  made  an  odd  splashing  sound  as  if  he 
were  laughing  inside  himself.  The  reflection  of 
the  electric  light  upon  the  blue  glass  of  his  specta- 
cles sent  strong  rays  into  Yevsey's  empty  breast, 
and  filled  him  with  slavish  readiness  to  do  every- 
thing necessary  to  end  these  slimy  days  which  sank 
into  darkness  and  threatened  madness. 

u  Let  me  go,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Yes,  I  will,  and  more  besides.  I  will  take  you 
into  the  service.     Now  you  will  yourself  put  people 

I5i 


IS*  THE  SPY 

into  the  place  from  which  you  have  just  been 
taken  —  into  the  same  place  and  into  other  cosy 
little  rooms."  He  laughed,  smacking  his  lip. 
Klimkov  bowed.  "  The  late  Lukin  interceded  for 
you;  and  in  memory  of  his  honest  service  I  will 
give  you  a  position.  You  will  receive  twenty-five 
rubles  a  month  to  begin  with." 

His  words  entered  Yevsey's  breast  and  memory, 
and  disposed  themselves  in  a  row,  as  if  a  command- 
ing hand  had  written  them  there.  He  bowed 
again. 

14  This  man,  Piotr  Petrovich,  will  be  your  chief 
and  teacher.  You  must  do  everything  he  tells  you. 
Do  you  understand?"  He  turned  to  the  other 
man.  44  So  it's  decided  —  he  will  live  with 
you." 

44  Very  well,"  came  the  response  with  unexpected 
loudness.  4<  That  will  be  more  convenient 
for   me." 

44  All  right." 

The  dark  man  turning  again  to  Yevsey  began  to 
speak  to  him  in  a  softened  voice,  telling  him  some- 
thing soothing  and  promising.  Yevsey  tried  to 
take  in  his  words,  and  followed  the  heavy  move- 
ment of  the  red  lip  under  the  mustache  without 
winking. 

44  Remember,  you  will  now  guard  the  sacred 
person  of  the  Czar  from  attempts  upon  his  life  and 
upon  his  sacred  power.     You  understand?  " 

"  I  thank  you  humbly,"  said  Yevsey  quietly. 


THE  SPY  153 

Piotr  Petrovich  pushed  his  hat  up  on  his  fore- 
head. 

"  I  will  explain  everything  to  him,"  he  inter- 
jected hastily.     "  It  is  time  for  me  to  go." 

11  Go,  go.  Well,  Klimkoy,  off  with  you.  Serve 
well,  brother,  and  you  will  be  satisfied.  You  will 
be  happy.  All  the  same  don't  forget  that  you  took 
part  in  the  murder  of  the  secondhand  book-dealer 
Raspopov.  You  confessed  to  it  yourself,  and 
I  took  your  testimony  down  in  writing.  Do  you 
understand?     Well,  so  long." 

Filip  Filippovich  nodded  his  head,  and  his  stiff 
beard,  which  seemed  to  be  cut  from  wood,  moved 
in  unison  with  it.  Then  he  held  out  to  Yevsey  a 
white  bloated  hand  with  a  number  of  gold  rings 
on  the  short  fingers. 

Yevsey  closed  his  eyes,  and  started. 

"What  a  scarey  fellow  you  are,  brother!" 
Filip  Filippovich  ejaculated  in  a  thin  voice,  and 
laughed  a  glassy  laugh.  "  Now  you  have  nothing 
and  nobody  to  fear.  You  are  now  the  servant 
of  the  Czar,  and  ought  to  be  self-assured  and 
bold.  You  stand  on  firm  ground.  Do  you 
comprehend?  " 

When  Yevsey  walked  out  into  the  street,  he 
could  not  catch  his  breath.  He  staggered,  and 
almost  fell.  Piotr,  raising  the  collar  of  his  over- 
coat,  looked  around   and  waved  to   a   cab. 

11  We  will  ride  home  —  to  my  house,"  he  said 
in  a  low  tone. 


154  THE  SPY 

Yevsey  looked  at  him  from  the  corners  of  his 
eyes,  and  almost  uttered  a  cry.  Piotr's  smooth- 
shaven  face  had  suddenly  grown  a  small  light 
mustache. 

u  Well,  why  are  you  gaping  at  me  in  that 
fashion  ?  "  he  asked  gruffly,   in  annoyance. 

Yevsey  dropped  his  head,  trying  in  spite  of 
his  wish  to  do  so,  not  to  look  into  the  face  of  the 
new  master  of  his  destiny.  Piotr  did  not  speak 
to  him  throughout  the  ride,  but  kept  counting 
something  on  his  fingers,  bending  them  one  after 
the  other  and  knitting  his  brows  and  biting  his 
lips.  Occasionally  he  called  out  angrily  to  the 
driver : 

"Hurry!" 

It  was  cold,  sleet  was  falling,  and  splashing 
sounds  floated  in  the  air.  It  seemed  to  Yevsey  that 
the  cab  was  quickly  rolling  down  a  steep  moun- 
tain into  a  black  dirty  ravine. 

They  stopped  at  a  large  three-storied  house. 
Most  of  the  windows  in  three  rows  were  dark 
and  blind.  Only  a  few  gleamed  a  sickly  yellow 
from  the  illumination  within.  Streams  of  water 
poured  from  the  roof  sobbing. 

"  Go  up  the  steps,"  commanded  Piotr,  who 
was  now  sans  mustache. 

They  ascended  the  steps  and  walked  through 
a  long  corridor  past  a  number  of  white  doors. 
Yevsey  thought  the  place  was  a  prison,  but  the 
thick  odor  of  fried  onion  and  blacking  did  not 


THE  SPY  155 

accord  with  his  conception  of  a  prison.  Piotr 
quickly  opened  one  of  the  white  doors,  turned  on 
two  electric  lights,  and  carefully  scrutinized  all  the 
corners  of  the  room. 

"  If  anybody  asks  you  who  you  are,"  he  said 
drily  and  quickly  while  removing  his  hat  and 
overcoat,  "  say  you  are  my  cousin.  You  came 
from  the  Tzarskoe  Selo  to  look  for  a  position. 
Remember  —  don't  make  a  break." 

Piotr's  face  wore  a  preoccupied  expression,  his 
eyes  were  cheerless,  his  speech  abrupt,  his  thin  lips 
twitched.  He  rang,  and  thrust  his  head  out  of 
the    door. 

"  Ivan,  bring  in  the  samovar,"  he  called. 

Yevsey  standing  in  a  corner  of  the  room  looked 
around  dismally,  in  vague  expectation. 

"  Take  off  your  coat,  and  sit  down.  You  will 
have  the  next  room  to  yourself,"  said  the  spy, 
quickly  unfolding  a  card  table.  He  took  from 
his  pocket  a  note-book  and  a  pack  of  cards,  which 
he  laid  out  for  four  hands. 

11  You  understand,  of  course,"  he  went  on  with- 
out looking  at  Klimkov,  "  you  understand  that 
ours  is  a  secret  business.  We  must  keep  under 
cover,  or  else  they'll  kill  us  as  they  killed  Lukin." 

"  Was  he  killed?  "  asked  Yevsey  quietly. 

11  Yes,"  said  Piotr  unconcernedly.  He  wiped 
his  forehead  and  examined  the  cards.  Deal  one 
thousand  two  hundred  and  fourteen  —  I  have  the 
ace,  seven  of  hearts,  queen  of  clubs."     He  made 


156  THE  SPY 

a  note  in  his  book,  and  without  raising  his  head 
continued  to  speak  to  himself. 

When  he  calculated  the  cards,  he  mumbled 
indistinctly  with  a  preoccupied  air;  but  when  he 
instructed  Yevsey,  he  spoke  drily,  clearly,  and 
rapidly.  "  Revolutionists  are  enemies  of  the  Czar 
and  God  —  ten  of  diamonds  —  three  —  Jack  of 
spades  —  they  are  bought  by  the  Germans  in 
order  to  bring  ruin  upon  Russia.  We  Russians 
have  begun  to  do  everything  ourselves,  and  for 
the  Germans  —  king,  five  and  nine  —  the  devil ! 
The  sixteenth  coincidence !  " 

Piotr  Petrovich  suddenly  grew  jolly,  his  eyes 
gleamed,  and  his  face  assumed  a  sleek,  satisfied 
expression. 

14  What  was  I  saying?  "  he  asked  Yevsey  looking 
up  at  him. 

"  The  Germans." 

"  Oh,  yes !  The  Germans  are  greedy,  they  are 
enemies  of  the  Russian  people,  they  want  to 
conquer  us.  They  want  us  to  buy  all  our  goods 
from  them,  and  give  them  our  bread.  The 
Germans  have  no  bread  —  queen  of  diamonds  — 
all  right  —  two  of  hearts,  ten  of  clubs,  ten  —  " 
Screwing  up  his  eyes  he  looked  up  at  the  ceiling, 
sighed,  and  shuffled  the  cards.  "  In  general,  all 
foreigners  envious  of  the  wealth  and  power  of 
Russia  —  one  thousand  two  hundred  and  fifteenth 
deal  —  want  to  create  a  revolt  in  our  country,  de- 
throne  the   Czar,   and  —  three   aces  —  hmm !  — 


THE  SPY 


J57 


and  place  their  own  officials  everywhere,  their  own 
rulers  over  us  in  order  to  rob  us  and  ruin  us. 
You  don't  want  this  to  happen,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't,"  said  Yevsey,  who  understood  nothing, 
and  followed  the  quick  movements  of  the  card- 
player's  fingers  with  a  dull  look. 

"  Of  course,  nobody  wants  it,"  remarked  Piotr 
pensively.  He  laid  out  the  cards  again,  and 
stroked  his  cheeks  meditatively.  "  You  are  a 
Russian,  and  you  cannot  want  that  —  that —  this 
should  happen  —  therefore  you  ought  to  fight  the 
revolutionaries,  agents  of  the  foreigners,  and 
defend  the  liberty  of  Russia,  the  power  and  life  of 
the  Czar.     That's  all.     Did  you  understand?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  Afterward  you  will  see  the  way  it  must  be 
done.  The  only  thing  I'll  tell  you  beforehand  is, 
don't  dwaddle.  Carry  out  all  orders  precisely. 
We  fellows  ought  to  have  eyes  in  back  as  well  as 
in  front.  If  you  haven't,  you'll  get  it  good  and 
hard  on  all  sides  —  ace  of  spades,  seven  of  dia- 
monds, ten  of  clubs." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

11  Open  the  door." 

A  red,  curly-haired  man  entered  carrying  a 
samovar  on  a  tray. 

"  Ivan,  this  is  my  cousin.  He  will  live  here 
with  me.     Get  the  next  room  ready  for  him." 

"  Yes,  sir.      Mr.  Chizhov  was  here." 

"Drunk?" 


158  THE  SPY 

"  A  little.     He  wanted  to  come  in." 

"  Make  tea,  Yevsey,"  said  the  spy  after  the 
servant  had  left  the  room.  "  Get  yourself  a  glass 
and  drink  some  tea.  What  salary  did  you  get  in 
the  police  department?" 

"  Nine  rubles  a  month." 

11  You  have  no  money  now  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  You've  got  to  have  some,  and  you  must  order 
a  suit  for  yourself.  One  suit  won't  do.  You 
must  notice  everybody,  but  nobody  must  notice 
you." 

He  again  mumbled  calculations  of  the  cards. 
Yevsey,  while  noiselessly  serving  the  tea,  tried  to 
straighten  out  the  strange  impressions  of  the  day. 
But  he  was  not  successful.  He  felt  sick.  He  was 
chilled  through  and  through,  and  his  hands  shook. 
He  wanted  to  stretch  himself  out  in  a  corner,  close 
his  eyes,  and  lie  motionless  for  a  long  time. 
Words  and  phrases  repeated  themselves  discon- 
nectedly in  his  head. 

"What  are  you  guilty  of,  then?"  Filip 
Filippovich  asked  in  a  thin  voice. 

"  They  killed  Dorimedont  Lukin,"  the  spy  an- 
nounced drily;  then  exclaimed  joyfully,  "The 
sixteenth  coincidence !  " 

11  You  will  choke  yourself,"  said  Rayisa  in  an 
even  voice. 

There  was  a  powerful  rap  on  the  door.  Piotr 
raised  his  head. 


THE  SPY 


159 


"Is  it  you,  Sasha?" 

"  Well,  open  the  door,"  an  angry  voice 
answered. 

•^When  Yevsey  opened  the  door,  a  tall  man 
loomed  before  him,  swaying  on  long  legs.  The 
ends  of  his  black  mustache  reached  to  the  bottom 
of  his  chin.  The  hairs  of  it  must  have  been 
stiff  and  hard  as  a  horse's,  for  each  one  stuck 
out  by  itself.  When  he  removed  his  hat,  he  dis- 
played a  bald  skull.  He  flung  the  hat  on  the 
bed,  and  rubbed  his  face  vigorously  with  both 
hands. 

"  Why  are  you  throwing  your  wet  hat  on  my 
bed?"  observed  Piotr. 

"The  devil  take  your  bed!"  said  the  guest 
through  his  nose. 

"  Yevsey,  hangup  the  overcoat." 

The  visitor  seated  himself,  stretching  out  his 
long  legs  and  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"What's  that  — Yevsey?" 

"My  cousin.     Will  you  have  some  tea?" 

"  We're  all  akin  in  our  natural  skin.  Have 
you  whiskey?  " 

Piotr  told  Klimkov  to  order  a  bottle  of  whiskey 
and  some  refreshments.  Yevsey  obeyed,  then 
seated  himself  at  the  table,  putting  the  samovar 
between  his  face  and  the  visitor's,  so  as  not  to 
be  seen  by  him. 

"How's  business,  card  sharper?"  he  asked, 
nodding  his  head  at  the  cards. 


;i6o  THE  SPY 

! 

Piotr  suddenly  half  raised  himself  from  the 
chair,  and  said  animatedly: 

"  I  have  found  out  the  secret !  I  have  found 
out  the  secret!"  Jr 

"  You  have  found  it  out?  "  queried  the  visitor. 
"  Fool !  "  he  exclaimed,  drawling  the  word  and 
shaking  his  head. 

Piotr  seized  the  note-book  and  rapping  his 
fingers  on  it  continued  in  a  hot  whisper: 

"  Wait,  Sasha.  I  have  had  the  sixteenth  coin- 
cidence already.  You  get  the  significance  of  that? 
And  I  made  only  one  one  thousand  two  hundred 
and  fourteen  deals.  Now  the  cards  keep  repeat- 
ing themselves  oftenerand  oftener.  I  must  make 
two  thousand  seven  hundred  and  four  deals.  You 
understand?  Fifty-two  times  fifty-two.  Then 
make  all  the  deals  over  again  thirteen  times, 
according  to  the  number  of  cards  in  each  color. 
Thirty-five  thousand,  one  hundred  and  fifty-two 
times.  And  repeat  these  deals  four  times  accord- 
ing to  the  number  of  colors.  One  hundred  and 
forty  thousand  six  hundred  and  eight  times." 

"  Fool !  "  the  visitor  again  drawled  through  his 
nose,  shaking  his  head  and  curling  his  lips  in 
a  sneer. 

"Why,  Sasha,  why?  Explain!"  Piotr  cried 
softly.  "  Why,  then  I'll  know  all  the  deals  pos- 
sible in  a  game.  Think  of  it!  I'll  look  at  my 
cards  —  "  he  held  the  book  nearer  to  his  face  and 
began  to  read  quickly  —  "  ace  of  spades,   seven 


THE  SPY  161 

of  diamonds,  ten  of  clubs.  So  of  the  other  play- 
ers one  has  king  of  hearts,  five  and  ten  of  dia- 
monds, and  the  other,  ace,  seven  of  hearts,  queen 
of  clubs,  and  the  third  has  queen  of  diamonds,  two 
of  hearts,  and  ten  of  clubs." 

His  hands  trembled,  sweat  glistened  on  his 
temples,  his  face  became  young,  good,  and  kind. 

Klimkov  peering  from  behind  the  samovar  saw 
on  Sasha's  face  large  dim  eyes  with  red  veins 
on  the  whites,  a  coarse  big  nose,  which  seemed 
to  be  swollen,  and  a  net  of  pimples  spread  on 
the  yellow  skin  of  his  forehead  from  temple  to 
temple  like  the  band  worn  by  the  dead.  He 
radiated  an  acrid,  unpleasant  odor.  The  man  re- 
called something  painful  to  Yevsey. 

Piotr  pressed  the  book  to  his  breast,  and  waved 
his  hand  in  the  air. 

"  I  shall  then  be  able  to  play  without  a  single 
miss,"  he  whispered  ecstatically.  "  Hundreds  of 
thousands,  millions,  will  be  lost  to  me,  and  there 
won't  be  any  sharp  practice,  any  jugglery  in  it, 
a  matter  of  my  knowledge  —  that's  all.  Every- 
thing strictly  within  the  law." 

He  struck  his  chest  so  severe  a  blow  with 
his  list  that  J^began  to  cough.  Then  he  dropped 
on  his  chair7  and  laughed   quietly. 

"  Why  don't  they  bring  the  whiskey?" 
growled  Sasha,  throwing  the  stump  of  his  cigarette 
on  the  floor. 

"  Yevsey,  go  tell  —  "  Piotr  began  quickly,  but  at 


1 62  THE  SPY 

that  instant  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 
u  Are  you  drinking  again  ?  "     Piotr  asked  smiling. 

Sasha  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  bottle. 

"  Not  yet,  but  I  will  be  in  a  second." 

"  It's  bad  for  you  with  your  sickness." 

"  Whiskey  is  bad  for  healthy  people,  too. 
Whiskey  and  the  imagination.  You,  for  instance, 
will  soon  be  an  idiot." 

11 1  won't.     Don't  be  uneasy." 

"  You  will.  I  know  mathematics.  I  see  you 
are  a  blockhead." 

"  Everyone  has  his  own  mathematics,"  replied 
Piotr,  disgruntled. 

"  Shut  up!  "  said  Sasha,  slowly  sipping  the  glass 
of  whiskey  and  smelling  a  piece  of  bread.  Having 
drained  the  first  glass,  he  immediately  filled  another 
for  himself. 

"  To-day,"  he  began,  bending  his  head  and 
resting  his  hands  on  his  knees,  M  I  spoke  to  the 
general  again.  I  made  a  proposition  to  him.  I 
said,  '  Now  give  me  means,  and  I'll  unearth  people. 
I  will  open  a  literary  club,  and  trap  the  very 
best  scamps  for  you,  all  of  them.'  He  puffed  his 
cheeks,  and  stuck  out  his  belly  and  said  —  the 
jackass !  — *  I  know  better  what  haj*to  be  done, 
and  how  it  has  to  be  done.'  He  knoW  everything. 
But  he  doesn't  know  that  his  mistress  danced  naked 
before  Von  Rutzen,  or  that  his  daughter  had  an 
abortion  performed."  He  drained  the  second 
glass  of  whiskey,  and  filled  the  third.     "  Every- 


THE  SPY  163 

body's  a  blackguard  and  a  skunk.  It's  impossible 
to  live !  Once  Moses  ordered  23,000  syphilitics 
to  be  killed.  At  that  time  there  weren't  many 
people,  mark  you.  If  I  had  the  power  I  would 
destroy  a  million." 

"  Yourself  first?  "  suggested  Piotr  smiling. 

Sasha  sniffed  without  answering,  as  if  in  a 
delirium. 

"  All  those  liberals,  generals,  revolutionists,  dis- 
solute women  —  I'd  make  a  large  pyre  of  them 
and  burn  them.  I  would  drench  the  earth  with 
blood,  manure  it  with  the  ashes  of  the  corpses. 
There  would  be  a  rich  crop.  Satiated  muzhiks 
would  elect  satiated  officials.  Man  is  an  animal, 
and  he  needs  rich  pastures,  fertile  fields.  The 
cities  ought  to  be  destroyed,  and  everything  super- 
ficial, everything  that  hinders  me  and  you  from 
living  simply  as  the  sheep  and  roosters  —  to  the 
devil  with  it  all !  " 

His  viscid  rank-smelling  words  fairly  glued 
themselves  to  Yevsey's  heart.  It  was  difficult 
and  dangerous  to  listen  to  them. 

M  Suddenly  they  will  summon  me  and  ask  me 
what  he  said.  Maybe  he's  speaking  on  purpose  to 
trap  me.  'tten  they'll  seize  me."  He  trembled 
and  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "  May  I  go?  " 
he  requested  of  Piotr  quietly. 

"Where?" 

"  To  my  room." 

11  Oh,  yes,  go  on." 


1 64  THE  SPY 

"  Got  frightened,  the  donkey !  "  remarked  Sasha 
without  lifting  his  head. 

"  Go  on,  go  on,"  repeated  Piotr. 

Klimkov  undressed  noiselessly  without  making 
a  light.  He  groped  for  the  bed  in  the  dark,  and 
rolled  himself  up  closely  in  the  cold,  damp  sheet. 
He  wanted  to  gcft  nothing,  to  hear  nothing,,  he 
wanted  to  squeeze  himself  into  a  little  unnoticeable 
lump."  The  snuffled  words  of  Sasha  clung  in  his 
memory.  Yevsey  thought  he  smelt  his  odor  and 
saw  the  red  band  on  the  yellow  forehead.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  the  irritated  exclamations  came  in  to 
him   through  the   door. 

u  I  am  a  muzhik  myself,  I  know  what's  neces- 
sary." 

Without  wishing  to  do  so  Yevsey  listened 
intently.  He  racked  his  brain  to  recall  the  person 
of  whom  this  sick  man  so  full  of  rancor  reminded 
him,  though  he  actually  dreaded  lest  he  should 
remember. 

It  was  dark  and  cold.  Behind  the  black  panes 
rocked  the  dull  reflections  of  the  light,  disappearing 
and  reappearing.  A  thin  scraping  sound  was 
audible.  The  wind-swept  rain  knocked  upon  the 
panes  in  heavy  drops.  j| 

"  Shall  I  enter  a  monastery?"  Klimkov  mused 
mournfully,  and  suddenly  he  remembered  God, 
whose  name  he  had  seldom  heard  in  his  life  in  the 
city.  He  had  not  thought  of  Him  the  whole  time. 
In  his  heart  always  full  of  fear  and  insult  there 


THE  SPY  165 

had  been  no  place  for  hope  in  the  mercy  of  Heaven. 
But  now  it  unexpectedly  appeared,  and  suffused 
his  breast  with  warmth,  extinguishing  his  heavy, 
dull  despair.  He  jumped  from  bed,  kneeled  on 
the  floor,  and  firmly  pressed  his  hands  to  his  bosom. 
He  turned  his  face  to  the  dark  corner  of  the 
room,  closed  his  eyes,  and  waited  without  uttering 
words,  listening  to  the  beating  of  his  heart.  But 
he  was  exceedingly  tired.  The  cold  pricked  his 
skin  with  thousands  of  sharp  needles.  He 
shivered,  and  lay  down  again  in  bed,  and  fell 
asleep. 


CHAPTER    XIV, 

\7t7HEN  Yevsey  awoke  he  saw  that  in  the  corner 
to  which  he  had  directed  his  mute  prayer 
there  were  no  ikons,  but  two  pictures  on  the  wall, 
one  representing  a  hunter  with  a  green  feather  in 
his  hat  kissing  a  stout  girl,  the  other  a  fair-haired 
woman  with  naked  bosom,  holding  a  flower  in  her 
hand. 

He  sighed  as  he  looked  around  his  room  without 
interest.  When  he  had  washed  and  dressed  he 
seated  himself  at  the  window.  The  middle  of  the 
street  upon  which  he  looked,  the  pavements,  and 
the  houses  were  all  dirty.  The  horses  plodded 
along  shaking  their  heads,  damp  drivers  sat  on  the 
box-seats,  also  shaking  as  if  they  had  come  un- 
screwed. The  people  as  always  were  hurrying 
somewhere.  To-day,  when  splashed  with  mud, 
they  seemed  less  dangerous  than  usual. 

Yevsey  was  hungry.  But  he  did  not  know 
whether  he  had  the  right  to  ask^  for  tea  anfl 
bread,  and  remained  motionless  as  a  stone  until 
he  heard  a  knock  on  the  wall,  upon  which  he 
went  to  the  door  of  Piotr's  room. 

"  Have  you  had  tea  yet?  "  asked  the  spy,  who 
was  still  lying  in  bed. 


THE  SPY  167 

"  No." 

"  Ask  for  it." 

Piotr  stuck  his  bare  feet  out  of  the  bed,  and 
looked  at  his  fingers  as  he  stretched  them. 

"  We'll  drink  tea,  and  then  you'll  go  with  me," 
he  said  yawning.  "  I'll  show  you  a  man,  and 
you  will  follow  him.  You  must  go  wherever  he 
goes,  you  understand?  Note  the  time  he  enters 
a  house  and  how  long  he  stays  there.  If  he  leaves 
the  house,  or  meets  another  man  on  the  way,  notice 
the  appearance  of  that  man  and  then  —  well,  you 
won't  understand  everything  at  the  very  first." 
Piotr  looked  at  Klimkov,  whistled  quietly,  and 
turning  aside  continued  lazily,  "  Last  night  Sasha 
babbled  about  various  things  here  —  he  upbraided 
everybody  —  don't  think  of  saying  anything  about 
it.  Take  care.  He's  a  sick  man,  and  drinks,  but 
he's  a  power.  You  can't  hurt  him,  but  he'll  eat 
you  up  alive.  Remember  that.  Why,  brother,  he 
was  a  student  once  himself,  and  he  knows  their 
business  down  to  a  '  t.'  He  was  even  put  in  prison 
for  political  offence.  And  now  he  gets  a  hundred 
rubles  a  month,  and  not  only  Filip  Filippovich  but 
even  the  general  calls  on  him  for  advice.  Yes, 
indeed."  Piotr  drew  his  flabby  face,  crumpled 
wTith  sleep,  in  a  frown,  his  grey  eyes  lowered  with 
dissatisfaction.  He  dressed  while  he  spoke  in  a 
bored,  grumbling  voice.  "  Our  work  is  not  a 
joke.  If  you  catch  people  by  their  throats  in  a 
trice,  then  of  course  —  but  first  you  must  tramp 


1 68  THE  SPY 

about  a  hundred  versts  for  each  one,  and  some- 
times more.  You  must  know  where  each  man  was 
at  a  given  time,  with  whom  he  was,  in  fact,  you 
have  to  know   everything  —  everything." 

The  evening  before,  notwithstanding  the  agita- 
tions of  the  day;  Klimkov  had  found  Piotr  an 
interesting,  clever  person.  Now,  however,  seeing 
that  he  spoke  with  an  effort,  that  he  moved  about 
reluctantly,  and  that  everything  dropped  from  his 
hands,  Yevsey  felt  bolder  in  his  presence. 

u  Must  we  walk  the  streets  the  whole  day 
long?  "  he  plucked  up  the  courage  to  ask. 

"  Sometimes  you  have  a  night  outing,  too,  in  the 
cold,  thirty  degrees  Centigrade.  A  very  evil 
demon  invented  our  profession." 

"  And  when  they  all  will  have  been  caught?  " 

"Who?" 

"  The  unfaithful  ones,  the  enemies." 

11  Say  revolutionists,  or  political  offenders.  You 
and  I  won't  catch  everyone  of  them.  They  all 
seem  to  be  born  twins." 

At  tea  Piotr  opened  his  book.  On  looking  into 
it,  he  suddenly  grew  animated.  He  jumped  from 
his  chair,  quickly  laid  out  the  cards,  and  began  to 
calculate  — "  One  thousand  two  hundred  and  six- 
teenth deal.  I  have  three  of  spades,  seven  of 
hearts,  ace  of  diamonds." 

Before  leaving  the  house  he  put  on  a  black  over- 
coat and  an  imitation  sheepskin  cap,  and  stuck  a 


.w** 


THE  SPY  169 

portfolio  in  his  hand,  making  himself  look  like 
an  official. 

"  Don't  walk  alongside  me  on  the  street,"  he 
said  sternly,  "  and  don't  speak  to  me.  I  will 
enter  a  certain  house;  you  go  into  the  dvornik's 
lodging,  tell  him  you  have  to  wait  for  Timofeyev. 
I'll  soon  —  " 

Fearing,  he  would  lose  Piotr  in  the  crowd 
Yevsey  walked  behind  him  without  removing  his 
eyes  from  his  figure.  But  all  of  a  sudden  Piotr 
disappeared.  Klimkov  was  at  a  loss.  He  rushed 
forward,  then  stopped,  and  pressed  himself  against 
a  lamp-post.  Opposite  him  rose  a  large  house 
with  gratings  over  the  dark  windows  of  the  first 
story.  Through  the  narrow  entrance  he  saw  a 
bleak  gloomy  yard  paved  with  large  stones. 
Klimkov  was  afraid  to  enter.  He  looked  all 
around  him  uneasily  shifting  from  one  foot  to  the 
other. 

A  man  with  a  reddish  little  beard  now  walked 
out  with  hasty  steps.  He  wore  a  sort  of  sleeve- 
less jacket  and  a  cap  with  a  visor  pulled  down  on 
his  forehead.  He  winked  his  grey  eyes  at 
Yevsey,  and  said  in  a  low  tone: 

"  Come  here.  Why  didn't  you  go  to  the 
dvornik?  " 

"  I  lost  you,"  Yevsey  admitted. 

"Lost?  Look  out!  You  might  get  it  in  the 
neck  for  that.     Listen.     Three  doors  away  from 


1 7o  THE  SPY 

here  is  the  Zemstvo  Board  building.  A  man  will 
soon  leave  the  place  who  works  there.  His  name 
is  Dmitry  Ilyich  Kurnosov.  Remember.  You  are 
to  follow  him.  You  understand?  Come,  and  I 
will  show  him  to  you." 

Several  minutes  later  Klimkov  like  a  little  dog 
was  quickly  following  a  man  in  a  worn  overcoat 
and  a  crumpled  black  hat.  The  man  was  large 
and  strong.  He  walked  rapidly,  swung  a  cane, 
and  rapped  it  on  the  asphalt  vigorously.  Black 
hair  with  a  sprinkling  of  grey  fell  from  under  his 
hat  on,  his  ears  and  the  back  of  his  neck. 

Yevsey  was  suddenly  overcome  by  a  feeling  of 
pity,  which  was  a  rare  thing  with  him.  It  im- 
periously demanded  action.  Perspiring  from 
agitation  he  darted  across  the  street  in  short  steps, 
ran  forward,  recrossed  the  street,  and  met  the  man 
breast  to  breast.  Before  him  flashed  a  dark- 
bearded  face,  with  meeting  brows,  a  smile  reflected 
in  blue  eyes,  and  a  broad  forehead  seamed  with 
wrinkles.  The  man's  lips  moved.  He  was 
evidently  singing  or  speaking  to  himself. 

Klimkov  stopped  and  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  his  face  with  his  hands.  Then  he  followed 
the  man  with  bent  head  and  eyes  cast  to  the  ground, 
raising  them  only  now  and  then  in  order  not  to 
lose  the  object  of  his  observation  from  sight. 

"  Not  young,"  he  thought.  "  A  poor  man 
apparently.  It  all  comes  from  poverty  and  from 
fear,  too." 


THE  SPY  171 

He  remembered  the  Smokestack,  and  trembled. 

44  He'll  kill  me,"  he  thought.  Then  he  grew 
sorry  for  the  Smokestack. 

The  buildings  looked  down  upon  him  with  dim, 
tired  eyes.  The  noise  of  the  street  crept  into  his 
ears  insistently,  the  cold  liquid  mud  squirted  and 
splashed.  Klimkov  was  overcome  by  a  sense  of 
gloomy  monotony.  He  recalled  Rayisa,  and  was 
drawn  to  move  aside,  away  from  the  street. 

The  man  he  was  tracking  stopped  at  the  steps  of 
a  house,  pushed  the  bell  button,  raised  his  hat, 
fanned  his  face  with  it,  and  flung  it  back  on  his 
head,  leaving  bare  part  of  a  bald  skull.  Yevsey 
stationed  himself  five  steps  away  at  the  curb.  He 
looked  pityingly  into  the  man's  face,  and  felt  the 
need  to  tell  him  something.  The  man  observed 
him,  frowned,  and  turned  away.  Yevsey,  discon- 
certed, dropped  his  head,  and  sat  down  on  the 
curb. 

"  If  he  only  had  insulted  me,"  he  thought. 
"  But  this  way,  without  any  provocation,  it's  not 
good,  it's  not  good." 

11  From  the  Department  of  Safety?  "  he  heard  a 
low  hissing  voice.  The  question  was  asked  by  a 
tall  reddish  muzhik  with  a  dirty  apron  and  a 
broom  in   his  hands. 

14  Yes,"  responded  Yevsey,  and  the  very  same 
instant  thought,  "  I  ought  not  to  have  told  him." 

"A  new  one  again?"  remarked  the  janitor. 
41  You  are  all  after  Kurnosov?" 


174  THE  SPY 

"  Yes." 

"  So?  Tell  the  officers  that  this  morning  a 
guest  came  to  him  from  the  railroad  station  with 
trunks,  three  trunks.  He  hasn't  registered  yet 
with  the  police.  He  has  twenty-four  hours'  time. 
A  little  sort  of  a  pretty  fellow  with  a  small  mus- 
tache. He  wears  clean  clothes."  The  dvornik 
ran  the  broom  over  the  pavement  several  times,  and 
sprinkled  Yevsey's  shoes  and  trousers  with  mud. 
Presently  he  stopped  to  remark,  "  You  can  be  seen 
here.  They  aren't  fools  either,  they  notice  your 
kind.     You  ought  to  stand  at  the  gates." 

Yevsey  obediently  stepped  to  the  gates.  Sud- 
denly he  noticed  Yakov  Zarubin  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street  wearing  a  new  overcoat  and  gloves 
and  carrying  a  cane.  The  black  derby  hat  was 
tilted  on  his  head,  and  as  he  walked  along  the  pave- 
ment he  smiled  and  ogled  like  a  street  girl  confident 
of  her  beauty. 

11  Good  morning,"  he  said,  looking  around.  "  I 
came  to  replace  you.  Go  to  Somov's  cafe  on  Le- 
bed  Street,  ask  for  Nikolay  Pavlov  there." 

"Are  you  in  the  Department  of  Safety,  too?" 
asked  Yevsey. 

"  I  got  there  ten  days  before  you.     Why?  " 

Yevsey  looked  at  him,  at  his  beaming  swart  coun- 
tenance. 

11  Was  it  you  who  told  about  me?  " 

"  And  didn't  you  betray  the  Smokestack?" 


THE  SPY  173 

After  thinking  a  while  Yevsey  answered  glumly : 

"  I  did  it  after  you  had  betrayed  me.  You  were 
the  only  one  I  told." 

"  And  you  were  the  only  one  the  Smokestack 
told.  Ugh !  "  Yakov  laughed,  and  gave  Yevsey 
a  poke  on  the  shoulder.  "  Go  quick,  you  crooked 
chicken !  "  He  walked  by  Yevsey's  side  swing- 
ing his  cane.  "  This  is  a  good  position.  I  under- 
stand so  much.  You  can  live  like  a  lord,  walk 
about,  and  look  at  everything.  You  see  this  suit? 
Now  the  girls  show  me  especial  attention." 

Soon  he  took  leave  of  Yevsey,  and  turned  back 
quickly.  Klimkov  following  him  with  an  inimical 
glance  fell  to  thinking.  He  considered  Yakov  a 
dissolute,  empty  fellow,  whom  he  placed  lower  than 
himself,  and  it  was  offensive  to  see  him  so  well  sat- 
isfied and  so  elegantly  dressed. 

14  He  informed  against  me.  If  I  told  about  the 
Smokestack  it  was  out  of  fear.  But  why  did  he 
do  it?  "  He  made  mental  threats  against  Yakov. 
"  Wait,  we  will  see  who's  the  better  man." 

When  he  asked  at  the  cafe  for  Nikolay  Pavlov, 
he  was  shown  a  stairway,  which  he  ascended.  At 
the  top  he  heard  Piotr's  voice  on  the  other  side  of 
a  door. 

"  There  are  fifty-two  cards  to  a  pack.  In  the 
city  in  my  district  there  are  thousands  of  people, 
and  I  know  a  few  hundred  of  them  maybe.  I 
know  who  lives  with  whom,  and  what  and  where 


174  THE  SPY 

each  of  them  works.     People  change,  but  cards 
remain  one  and  the  same." 

Besides  Sasha  there  was  another  man  in  the  room 
with  Piotr,  a  tall,  well-built  person,  who  stood  at 
the  window  reading  a  paper,  and  did  not  move 
when  Yevsey  entered. 

"  What  a  stupid  mug !  "  were  the  words  with 
which  Sasha  met  Yevsey,  fixing  an  evil  look  upon 
his  face.  "  It  must  be  made  over.  Do  you  hear, 
Maklakov?" 

The  man  reading  the  paper  turned  his  head,  and 
looked  at  Yevsey  with  large  bright  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 
V  Piotr,  who  seemed  to  be  excited  and  had  dis- 
hevelled hair,  asked  Yevsey  what  he  had  seen. 
The  remnants  of  dinner  stood  on  the  table;  the 
odor  of  grease  and  sauer-kraut  titillated  Yevsey's 
nostrils,  and  gave  him  a  keen  appetite.  He  stood 
before  Piotr,  who  was  cleaning  his  teeth  with  a 
goose-quill,  and  in  a  dispassionate  voice  repeated 
the  information  the  janitor  had  given  him.  At  the 
first  words  of  the  account  Maklakov  put  his  hands 
and  the  paper  behind  his  back,  and  inclined  his 
head.  He  listened  attentively  twirling  his  mus- 
tache, which  like  the  hair  on  his  head  was  a  peculiar 
light  shade,  a  sort  of  silver  with  a  tinge  of  yellow. 
The  clean,  serious  face  with  the  knit  brows  and  the 
calm  eyes,  the  confident  pose  of  his  powerful  body 
clad  in  a  close-fitting,  well  made,  sober  suit,  the 


THE  SPY  175 

strong  bass  voice  —  all  this  distinguished  Makla- 
kov  advantageously  from  Piotr  and  Sasha. 

11  Did  the  janitor  himself  carry  the  trunks  in?  " 
he  asked  Yevsey. 

"  He  didn't  say." 

"  That  means  he  did  not  carry  them  in.  He 
would  have  told  you  whether  they  were  heavy  or 
light.  They  carried  them  in  themselves.  Evi- 
dently that's  the  way  it  was." 

"  The  printing  office?  "  asked  Sasha. 

"  Literature,  the  current  number." 

"  Well,  we  must  have  a  search  made,"  said 
Sasha  gruffly,  and  uttered  an  ugly  oath,  shaking  his 
fist. 

"  I  must  find  the  printing-press.  Get  me  type, 
boys,  and  I'll  fix  up  a  printing-press  myself.  I'll 
find  the  donkeys.  We'll  give  them  all  that's  neces- 
sary. Then  we'll  arrest  them,  and  we'll  have  lots 
of  money." 

11  Not  a  bad  scheme !  "  exclaimed  Piotr. 

Maklakov  looked  at  Yevsey,  and  asked: 

"  Have  you  had  your  dinner  yet?  " 

"No." 

"  Take  your  dinner,"  said  Piotr  with  a  nod  to- 
ward the  table.     "  Be  quick  about  it." 

"Why  treat  him  to  remnants?"  asked  Makla- 
skov  calmly.  Then  he  stepped  to  the  door,  opened 
it,  and  called  out,  "  Dinner,  please." 

"  You  try,"  Sasha  snuffled  to  Piotr,   "  to  per- 


176  THE  SPY 

suade  that  idiot  Afanasov  to  give  us  the  printing- 
press  they  seized  last  year." 

"  Very  well,  I'll  try,"  Piotr  assented  medita- 
tively. 

Maklakov  did  not  look  at  them,  but  silently 
twisted  his  mustache.  Dinner  was  served.  A 
round  pock-marked  modest-looking  man  made  his 
appearance  in  the  room  at  the  same  time  as  the 
waiter.  He  smiled  at  everyone  benevolently,  and 
shook  Yevsey's  hand  vigorously. 

11  My  name  is  Solovyov,"  he  said  to  him. 
"  Have  you  heard  the  news,  friends?  This  even- 
ing there  will  be  a  banquet  of  the  revolutionists  at 
Chistov's  hall.  Three  of  our  fellows  will  go 
there  as  butlers,  among  others  you,  Piotr." 

"  I  again?  "  shouted  Piotr,  and  his  face  became 
covered  with  red  blotches.  His  anger  made  him 
look  older.  "  The  third  time  in  two  months  that 
I  have  had  to  play  lackey !  Excuse  me !  I  don't 
want  to." 

"  Don't  address  me  on  the  subject,"  said  Solov- 
yov affably. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  Why  do  they  choose  just 
me  to  be  a  servant?  " 

"  You  look  like  one,"  said  Sasha,  with  a  smile. 

"  There  will  be  three,"  Solovyov  repeated  sigh- 
ing. "What  do  you  say  to  having  some  beer? 
All  right?" 

Piotr  opened  the  door,  and  shouted  in  an  irri- 
tated voice : 


THE  SPY  [i  77 

"  Half  a  dozen  beer,"  and  he  went  to  the  win- 
dow clenching  his  fists  and  cracking  his  knuckles. 

"There,  you  see,  Maklakov? "  said  Sasha. 
"  Among  us  no  one  wants  to  work  seriously,  with 
enthusiasm.  But  the  revolutionists  are  pushing 
right  on  —  banquets,  meetings,  a  shower  of  litera- 
ture, open  propaganda  in  the  factories  1  " 

Maklakov  maintained  silence,  and  did  not  look 
at  Sasha.  Round  Solovyov  then  took  up  the 
word,  smiling  amiably. 

"  I  caught  a  girl  to-day  at  the  railroad  station 
with  books.  I  had  already  noticed  her  in  a  villa 
in  the  summer.  '  Well/  thought  I,  *  amuse  your- 
self, my  dear/  To-day,  as  I  was  walking  in  the 
station  with  no  people  to  track,  I  was  looking 
about,  and  there  I  see  her  marching  along  carrying 
a  handbag.  I  went  up  to  her,  and  respectfully 
proposed  that  she  have  a  couple  of  words  with  me. 
I  noticed  she  started  and  paled,  and  hid  the  bag 
behind  her  back.  *  Ah/  thinks  I,  '  my  dear  little 
stupid,  you've  gotten  yourself  into  it.'  Well,  I 
immediately  took  her  to  the  police  station,  they 
opened  her  luggage,  and  there  was  the  last  issue 
of  '  Emancipation  '  and  a  whole  lot  more  of  their 
noxious  trash.  I  took  the  girl  to  the  Department 
of  Safety.  What  else  was  I  to  do?  If  you  can't 
get  Krushin  pike,  you  must  eat  blinkers.  In  the 
carriage  she  kept  her  little  face  turned  away  from 
me.  I  could  see  her  cheeks  burned  and  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes.     But  she  kept  mum.     I  asked 


178  THE  SPY 

her,  '  Are  you  comfortable,  madam  ?  '  Not  a  word 
in  reply." 

Solovyov  chuckled  softly.  Trembling  rays  of 
wrinkles  covered  his  face. 

"Who  is  she?"  asked  Maklakov. 

"  Dr.  Melikhov's  daughter." 

"  Ah,"  drawled  Sasha,  "  I  know  him." 

"  A  respectable  man.  He  has  the  orders  of 
Vladimir  and  Anna,"  remarked  Solovyov. 

14 1  know  him,"  repeated  Sasha.  "  A  charlatan, 
like  all  the  rest.     He  tried  to  cure  me." 

41  God  alone  can  cure  you  now,"  said  Solovyov  in 
his  affable  tone.  "  You  are  ruining  your  health 
quickly." 

"  Go  to  the  devil !  "  roared  Sasha. 

Maklakov  asked  without  turning  his  gaze  from 
the  window: 

"  Did  the  girl  cry?" 

44  No.  But  she  didn't  exactly  rejoice.  You 
know  it's  always  unpleasant  to  me  to  take  girls,  be- 
cause in  the  first  place  I  have  a  daughter  myself." 

"What  are  you  waiting  for,  Maklakov?"  de- 
manded Sasha  testily. 

"  Until  he  gets  through  eating  his  dinner.  I 
have  time." 

44  Say,  you,  chew  faster !  "  Sasha  bawled  at  Klim- 
kov. 

"  Yes,  yes,  hurry,"  Piotr  observed  drily. 

As  he  ate  his  dinner,  Klimkov  listened  to  the 
talk  attentively,  and  observed  the  people  while  he 


THE  SPY  179 

himself  remained  unnoticed.  He  noted  with  sat- 
isfaction that  all  of  them  except  Sasha  did  not  seem 
bad,  not  worse  or  more  horrible  than  others.  He 
was  seized  with  a  desire  to  ingratiate  himself  with 
them,  make  himself  useful  to  them.  He  put  down 
the  knife  and  fork,  and  quickly  wiped  his  lips  with 
the  soiled  napkin. 

14 1  am  done." 

The  door  was  flung  open,  and  a  loose-limbed  fel- 
low, his  dress  in  disorder,  his  body  bent  and  stoop- 
ing, darted  into  the  room,  and  hissed : 

"Ssh!     Ssh!" 

He  thrust  his  head  into  the  corridor,  listened, 
then  carefully  closed  the  door.  "  Doesn't  it  lock? 
Where  is  the  key?  "  He  looked  around,  and  drew 
a  deep  breath.     "  Thank  God !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Eh,  you  dunce,"  sneered  Sasha.  "  Well,  what 
is  it?     Do  they  want  to  lick  you  again?  " 

The  man  ran  up  to  him.  Panting  and  wiping 
the  sweat  from  his  face,  he  began  to  mutter  in  a 
low  voice : 

"  They  did,  of  course.  They  wanted  to  kill  me 
with  a  hammer.  Two  followed  me  from  the 
prison.  I  was  there  on  business.  As  I  walked  out, 
they  were  standing  at  the  gate,  two  of  them,  and 
one  of  them  had  a  hammer  in  his  pocket." 

"  Maybe  it  was  a  revolver,"  suggested  Solovyov 
stretching  his  neck. 

"  A  hammer." 

"  Did  you  see  it?"  inquired  Sasha  sarcastically. 


180  THE  SPY 

I 

"Ah,  don't  I  know?  They  agreed  to  do  me 
up  with  a  hammer,  without  making  any  noise. 
One  — " 

He  adjusted  his  necktie,  buttoned  his  coat, 
searched  for  something  in  his  pockets,  and 
smoothed  his  curly  head,  which  was  covered  with 
sweat.  His  hands  incessantly  flashed  about  his 
body;  they  seemed  ready  to  break  off  any  moment. 
His  bony  grey  face  was  dank  with  perspiration,  his 
dark  eyes  rolled  from  side  to  side,  now  screwed  up, 
now  opened  wide.  Suddenly  they  became  fixed. 
With  unfeigned  horror  depicted  in  them  they  rested 
upon  Yevsey's  face,  as  the  man  backed  to  the  door. 

"Who's  that?  Who's  that?"  he  demanded 
hoarsely. 

Maklakov  went  up  to  him,  and  took  his  hand. 

14  Calm  yourself,  Yelizar.     He's  one  of  our  own, 


a  new  one." 


"  Do  you  know  him?  " 

"Jackass!"  came  Sasha's  exasperated  voice. 
"  You  ought  to  see  a  physician." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  pushed  under  a  trolley 
car?     Not    yet?     Then    wait    before    you    call 


mes." 


"  Just  look,  Maklakov,"  began  Sasha,  but  the 
man  continued  in  extreme  excitement: 

".Have  you  ever  been  beaten  at  night  by  un- 
known people?  Do  you  understand?  Unknown 
people!  There  are  hundreds  of  thousands  such 
people  unknown  to  me  in  the  city,  hundreds  of 


THE  SPY  181 

thousands.  They  are  everywhere,  and  I  am  a 
single  one.  I  am  always  amcng  them,  do  you  un- 
derstand? " 

Now  Solovyov  began  to  speak  in  his  soft,  reas- 
suring voice,  which  was  drowned,  however,  by  the 
new  burst  of  words  coming  from  the  shattered  man, 
who  carried  in  himself  a  whirlwind  of  fear.  Klim- 
kov  immediately  grew  dizzy,  overwhelmed  by  the 
alarming  whisper  of  his  talk,  blinded  by  the  motion 
of  his  broken  body,  and  the  darting  of  his  cowardly 
hands.  He  expected  that  now  something  huge  and 
black  would  tear  its  way  through  the  door,  would 
fill  the  room,  and  crush  everybody. 

"  It's  time  for  us  to  go,"  said  Maklakov,  touch- 
ing his  shoulder. 

When  they  were  sitting  in  the  cab  Yevsey  sul- 
lenly remarked: 

"  I  am  not  fit  for  this  work." 

"Why?"  asked  Maklakov. 

"  I  am  timid." 

11  That'll  pass  away." 

"  Nothing  will  pass  away." 

"  Everything,"  rejoined  Maklakov  calmly. 

It  was  cold  and  dark,  and  sleet  was  falling. 
The  reflections  of  the  lights  lay  upon  the  mud  in 
golden  patches,  which  the  people  and  horses 
tramped  upon  and  extinguished.  The  two  men 
were  silent  for  a  long  time.  Yevsey,  his  brain 
empty,  looked  into  space,  and  felt  that  Maklakov 
was  watching  his  face,  in  wait  for  something. 


1 82  THE  SPY 

"  You'll  get  used  to  it,"  Maklakov  went  on, 
11  but  if  you  have  another  position,  leave  it  at  once. 
Have  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Is  it  long  since  you've  been  in  the  Depart- 
ment of  Safety?"  . 

"  Yesterday." 

"  That  accounts  for  it." 

"  Now  where  am  I  to  go?"  inquired  Yevsey 
quietly. 

Maklakov  instead  of  replying  to  the  question 
asked : 

"  Have  you  relatives?  " 

"  No.     I  have  no  one." 

« 

The  spy  leaned  over,  though  without  saying  any- 
thing. His  eyes  were  half  shut.  As  he  drew  his 
breath  through  his  nose,  the  thin  hair  of  his  mus- 
tache quivered.  The  thick  sounds  of  a  bell  floated 
in  the  air,  soft  and  warm,  and  the  pensive  song  of 
copper  crept  mournfully  over  the  roofs  of  the 
houses  without  rising  under  the  heavy  cloud  that 
covered  the  city  with  a  solid  dark  canopy. 

"  To-morrow  is  Sunday,"  said  Maklakov  in  a 
low  tone.     "  Do  you  go  to  church?  " 

"  No." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Just  so.     It's*close  there." 

"  I  do.  I  love  the  morning  service.  The 
choristers  sing,  and  the  sun  looks  through  the  win- 
dows.    That  is  always  good." 


THE  SPY  183 

Maklakov's  simple  words  emboldened  Yevsey. 
•He  felt  a  desire  to  speak  of  himself. 

"  It  is  nice  to  sing,"  he  began.  "  When  I  was 
a  little  boy  I  sang  in  the  church  in  our  village. 
When  I  sang  I  didn't  know  where  I  was.  It  was 
just  the  same  as  if  I  didn't  exist." 

11  Here  we  are,"  said  Maklakov. 

Yevsey  sighed,  and  looked,  sadly  at  the  long 
structure  of  the  railway  station,  which  all  of  a  sud- 
den loomed  up  before  them  and  barred  the  way. 

They  went  to  the  platform  where  a  large  pub- 
lic had  already  gathered,  and  leaned  up  against  the 
wall.  Maklakov  dropped  his  lid's  over  *his  eyes,* 
and  seemed  to  be  falling  into,  a  doze.  The 
spurs  of  the  gendarmes  began  to  jingle,  a  well- 
shaped  woman  with  dark  eyes  and  a.  swarthy  face 
laughed  in  a  resonant  young  voice. 

"  Remember  the  woman  there  who  is  laughing 
and  the  man  beside  her,"  said  Maklakov  in  a  dis- 
tinct whisper.  "  Her  name  is  Sarah  Liirye,  an 
accoucheure.  She  lives  in  the  Sadovoy,  No.  7, 
She  was  in  prison  and  in  exile,  a  very  clever  wo- 
man. The*old  man  is  also  a  former  exile,  a  jour- 
nalist." 

Suddenly  Maklakov  seemed  to  become  fright- 
ened. He  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  face  with 
a  quick  movement  of  his  hand,  and  continued  in  a 
still  lower  voice : 

"  The  tall  man  in  the  black  suit  and  the  shaggy 
hat,  red-haired,  do  you  s*ee  him?  " 


1 84  THE  SPY 

Yevsey  nodded  his  head. 

"  He's  the  author  Mironov.  He  has  been  in 
prison  four  times  already,  in  different  cities.  Do 
you  read  books?  " 

"  No." 

11  A  pity.     He  writes  interestingly." 

The  black  iron  worm  with  a  horn  on  its  head 
and  three  fiery  eyes  uttered  a  scream,  and  glided 
into  the  station,  the  metal  of  its  huge  body  rum- 
bling. It  stopped,  and  hissed  spitefully,  filling  the 
air  with  its  thick  white  breath.  The  hot  steamy 
odor  knocked  Yevsey  in  the  face.  The  black 
♦  bustling  figures  of  people  quickly  darted  before  his 
eyes,  seeming  strangely  small  in  contrast  with  the 
overwhelming  size  of  the  train. 

It  was  the  first  time  Yevsey  had  seen  the  mass  of 
iron  at  such  close  range.  It  seemed  alive  and  en- 
dowed with  feeling.  It  attracted  his  attention 
powerfully,  at  the  same  time  arousing  a  hostile, 
painful  premonition.  The  large  red  wheels  turned, 
the  steel  lever  glittered,  rising  and  falling  like  a 
gigantic  knife.  Maklakov  utter  a  subdued  excla- 
mation. 

11  What  is  it?  "  asked  Yevsey. 

u  Nothing,"  answered  the  spy  vexed.  His 
cheeks  reddened,  and  he  bit  his  lips.  By  his  look 
Yevsey  guessed  that  he  was  following  the  author, 
who  was  walking  along  without  haste,  twirling  his 
mustache.  He  was  accompanied  by  an  elderly, 
thick-set  man,  with  an  unbuttoned  coat  and  a  sum- 


THE  SPY  1 85 

mer  hat  on  a  large  head.  This  man  laughed  aloud, 
and  exclaimed  as  he  raised  his  bearded  red  face : 

"  You  understand?     I  rode  and  rode  — " 

The  author  lifted  his  head,  and  bowed  to  some- 
body. His  head  was  smoothly  shorn,  his  fore- 
head lofty.  He  had  high  cheek  bones,  a  broad 
nose,  and  narrow  eyes.  Klimkov  found  his  face 
coarse  and  disagreeable.  There  was  something 
military  and  harsh  in  it,  due  to  his  large  red  mus- 
tache. 

"  Come,"  said  Maklakov.  "  They  will  prob- 
ably go  together.  You  must  be  very  careful.  The 
man  who  just  arrived  is  an  experienced  man." 

In  the  street  they  took  a  cab  again. 

"  Follow  that  carriage,"  Maklakov  said  angrily 
to  the  driver.  He  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  sit- 
ting with  bent  back  and  swaying  body.  "  Last 
year  in  the  summer,"  he  finally  muttered,  "  I  was 
in  his  house  making  a  search." 

"The  writer's  house?"  asked  Yevsey. 

"  Yes.  Drive  on  farther,"  Maklakov  ordered 
quickly  noticing  that  the  cab  in  front  had  stopped. 
"Quick!" 

A  minute  later  he  jumped  from  the  cab,  and 
thrust  some  money  into  the  driver's  hand. 

11  Wait,"  he  said  to  Yevsey,  and  disappeared  in 
the  damp  darkness.  Yevsey  heard  his  voice. 
"  Excuse  me,  is  this  Yakovlev's  house?  " 

Someone  answered  in  a  hollow  voice : 

11  This  is  Pertzev's." 


1 86  THE  SPY 

■ 

"  And  which  is  Yakovlev's?" 

44  I  don't  know." 

44  Pardon  me." 

Yevsey  leaned  against  the  fence,  counting  Mak- 
lakov's  tardy  steps. 

44  It's  a  simple  thing  —  just  to  follow  people," 
he  thought. 

The  spy  came  up  to  him,  and  said  in  a  satisfied 
tone: 

"  We  have  nothing  to  do  here.  To-morrow 
morning  you  will  put  on  a  different  suit,  and  we'll 
keep  an  eye  on  this  house." 

They  walked  down  the  street.  The  sound  of 
Maklakov's  talk  kept  knocking  at  Klimkov's  ears 
like  the  rumble  of  a  drum. 

44  Remember  the  faces,  the  dress,  and  the  gait 
of  the  people  that  pass  this  house.  There  are  no 
two  people  alike.  Each  one  has  something  pecu- 
liar to  himself.  You  must  learn  at  once  to  seize 
upon  this  peculiar  something  in  a  person  —  in  his 
eyes,  in  his  voice,  in  the  way  in  which  he  holds  out 
his  hands  when  he  walks,  in  the  manner  in  which  he 
lifts  his  hat  in  greeting.  Our  work  above  all  de- 
mands a  good  memory." 

Yevsey  felt  that  the  spy  talked  with  concealed 
enmity  toward  him;  which  aggrieved  him. 

44  You  have  an  exceedingly  marked  face,  espe- 
cially your  eyes.  That  won't  do.  You  mustn't  go 
about  without  a  mask,  without  the  dress  peculiar  to 
a  certain  occupation.    Your  figure,  you  in  general, 


THE  SPY  187 

resemble  a  hawker  of  dry-goods.  So  you  ought  to 
carry  about  a  box  of  stuffs,  pins,  needles,  tape, 
ribbon,  and  all  sorts  of  trifles.  I  will  see  that  you 
get  such  a  box.  Then  you  can  go  into  the  kitch- 
ens and  get  acquainted  with  the  servants."  Mak- 
lakov  was  silent,  removed  his  beard,  fixed  his  hat, 
and  began  to  walk  more  slowly.  "  Servants  are 
always  ready  to  do  something  unpleasant  for  the 
masters.  It's  easy  to  get  something  out  of  them, 
especially  the  women  —  cooks,  nurses,  chamber- 
maids. They  like  to  gossip.  However,  I'm 
chilled  through,"  he  ended  in  a  different  voice. 
11  Let's  go  to  a  cafe." 

"  I  have  no  money." 

"  That's  all  right." 

In  the  cafe  he  said  to  the  owner  in  a  stern  voice: 

11  Give  me  a  glass  of  cognac,  a  large  one,  and 
two  beers.     Will  you  have  some  cognac?" 

"  No,  I  don't  drink,"  answered  Yevsey,  embar- 
rassed. 

"  That's  good." 

The  spy  looked  carefully  into  Klimkov's  face, 
smoothed  his  mustache,  closed  his  eyes  for  a  min- 
ute, and  stretched  his  whole  body,  so  that  his  bones 
cracked.  When  he  had  drunk  the  cognac,  he  re- 
marked in  an  undertone: 

14  It's  good  you  are  such  a  taciturn  fellow. 
What  do  you  think  about,  eh?  " 

Yevsey  dropped  his  head,  and  did  not  answer 
at  once. 


1 88  THE  SPY 

"  About  everything,  about  myself." 

M  But  what  in  particular?  " 

Maklakov's  eyes  gleamed  softly. 
J  "  I  think  perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  me  to 
enter  a  monastery/'  Yevsey  answered  sincerely. 

"Why?" 

"  Just  so." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  God?  " 

After  a  moment's  thought  Yevsey  said  as  if 
excusing  himself : 

"  I  do.     Only  I  am  not  for  God,  but  for  myself. 
^  What  am  I  to  God?" 

"  Well,  let's  drink." 

Klimkov  bravely  gulped  down  a  glass  of  beer. 
It  was  cold  and  bitter,  and  sent  a  shiver  through 
his  body.  He  licked  his  lips  with  his  tongue,  and 
suddenly  asked: 

"  Do  they  beat  you  often?  " 

"  Me  ?  Who  ?  "  the  spy  exclaimed  amazed  and 
offended. 

"  Not  you,  but  all  the  spies  in  general." 

"  You  must  say  '  agents,'  not  '  spies,'  "  Mak- 
lakov  corrected  him  smiling.  "  They  get  beaten, 
yes,  they  get  beaten.     I  have  never  been  beaten." 

He  became  lost  in  reflection.  His  shoulders 
drooped,  and  a  shadow  crept  over  his  white  face. 

"  Ours  is  a  dog's  occupation.  People  look 
upon  us  in  an  ugly  enough  light."  Suddenly  his 
face  broke  into  a  smile,  and  he  bent  toward  Yev- 
sey.    "  Only  once  in  five  years  did  I  see  a  man  — 


THE  SPY  189 

human  conduct  toward  me.  It  was  in  Mironov's 
house.  I  came  to  him  with  gendarmes  in  the  uni- 
form of  a  sergeant-inspector.  I  was  not  well  at 
the  time.  I  had  fever,  and  was  scarcely  able  to 
stand  on  my  feet.  He  received  us  civilly,  with  a 
smile.  He  wore  a  slightly  embarrassed  air.  Such 
a  large  man,  with  long  hands  and  a  mustache  like  a 
cat's.  He  walked  with  us  from  room  to  room, 
addressed  us  all  with  the  respectful  plural  *  you,' 
and  if  he  came  in  contact  with  any  of  us,  he  ex- 
cused himself.  We  all  felt  awkward  in  his  pres- 
ence —  the  colonel,  the  procurator,  and  we  small 
fry.  Everybody  knew  the  man;  his  pictures  ap- 
peared in  the  newspapers.  They  say  he's  even 
known  abroad.  And  here  we  were  paying  him  a 
night  visit!  We  felt  sort  of  abashed.  I  noticed 
him  look  at  me.  Then  he  walked  up  closer  to  me, 
and  said,  '  You  ought  to  sit  down.  You  look  as  if 
you  were  feeling  ill.  Sit  down.'  His  words  upset 
me.  I  sat  down,  and  I  thought  to  myself,  '  Go 
away  from  me.'  And  he  said,  '  Will  you  take  a 
powder?'  All  of  us  were  silent.  I  saw  that  no 
one  looked  at  me  or  him."  Maklakov  laughed 
quietly.  "  He  gave  me  quinine  in  a  capsule,  and  I 
chewed  it.  I  began  to  feel  an  insufferable  bitter- 
ness in  my  mouth  and  a  turmoil  in  my  soul.  I  felt 
I  would  drop  if  I  tried  to  stand.  Here  the  colonel 
interfered,  and  ordered  me  to  be  taken  to  the  police 
office.  The  search  just  then  happened  to  end. 
The  procurator  excused  himself  to  Mironov,  and 


i9o  THE  SPY 

said,  *  I  must  arrest  you.'  *  Well,  what  of  it?  '  he 
said.  *  Arrest  me.  Everyone  does  what  he  can.' 
He  said  it  so  simply  with  a  smile." 

Yevsey  liked  the  story.  It  touched  his  heart 
softly,  as  if  embracing  it  with  a  caress.  The  de- 
sire awoke  in  him  again  to  make  himself  useful  to 
Maklakov. 

14  He's  a  good  man,"  he  thought. 

The  spy  sighed.  He  called  for  another  glass  of 
cognac,  and  sipped  it  slowly.  He  seemed  sud- 
denly to  grow  thin,  and  he  dropped  his  head  on 
the  table. 

Yevsey  wanted  to  speak,  to  ask  questions.  Va- 
rious words  darted  about  in  disorder  in  his  brain, 
for  some  reason  failing  to  arrange  themselves  in 
intelligible  and  clear  language.  Finally,  after  many 
efforts,  Yevsey  found  what  he  wanted  to  ask. 

44  He,  too,  is  in  the  service  of  our  enemies?  " 

"Who?"  asked  the  spy,  scarcely  raising  his 
head. 

"  The  writer." 

"What  enemies?  What  do  you  mean?" 
The  spy's  face  was  mocking,  and  his  lips  curled  in 
aversion.  Yevsey  grew  confused,  and  Maklakov 
without  awaiting  his  answer  arose,  and  tossed  a 
silver  coin  on  the  table. 

"  Charge  it  up,"  he  said  to  someone. 

He  put  on  his  hat,  and  without  a  word  to  Klim- 
kov  walked  to  the  door.  Yevsey  followed  on  tip- 
toe, not  daring  to  put  on  his  hat. 


THE  SPY  191 

"  Be  at  the  place  at  nine  o'clock  to-morrow. 
You  will  be  relieved  at  twelve,"  said  Maklakov 
in  the  street.  He  thrust  his  hands  in  his  coat  pock- 
ets, and  disappeared. 

"  He  didn't  say  '  good-by,'  "  thought  Yevsey 
aggrieved,  walking  along  the  deserted  street. 

When  he  entered  within  the  circles  of  light 
thrown  by  the  street  lamps,  he  slackened  his  pace, 
and  instinctively  hastened  over  the  parts  enveloped 
in  obscurity.  He  felt  ill.  Darkness  surrounded 
him  on  all  sides.  It  was  cold.  The  gluey,  bitter 
taste  of  beer  penetrated  from  his  mouth  into  his 
chest,  and  his  heart  beat,  unevenly.  Languid 
thoughts  stirred  in  his  head  like  heavy  flakes  of 
autumn  snow. 

"  There,  I've  served  a  day.  How  they  all  are 
—  these  different  days.  If  only  somebody  liked 
me." 

At  night  Yevsey  dreamed  that  his  cousin  Yashka 
seated  himself  on  his  chest,  seized  him  by  the 
throat,  and  choked  him.  He  awoke,  and  heard 
Piotr's  angry  dry  thin  voice  in  the  other  room: 

11 1  spit  upon  the  Czar's  empire  and  all  this  hum- 
buggery  I" 

A  woman  laughed,  and  someone's  thin  voice 
sounded : 

"  Hush,  hush,  don't  bawl." 

"  I  have  no  time  to  calculate  who  is  right,  and 
who  is  wrong.  I  am  not  a  fool,  I  am  young,  and 
I  ought  to  live.     This  rapscallion  reads  me  lee- 


192  THE  SPY 

tures  about  autocracy,  and  I  fuss  about  for  three 
hours  as  a  waiter,  near  every  sort  of  scamp.  My 
feet  ache,  my  back  pains  from  the  bows.  If  the 
autocracy  is  dear  to  you,  then  don't  be  stingy  with 
your  money.  But  I  won't  sell  my  pride  to  the 
autocracy  for  a  mere  penny.  To  the  devil  with 
it!" 

Yevsey  looked  drowsily  through  the  window, 
his  gaze  losing  itself  in  the  sleepy  depth  of  the  au- 
tumn morning.  Blinded,  he  quietly  flung  himself 
back  in  bed,  and  again  fell  asleep. 

Several  hours  later  he  was  sitting  on  the  curb 
opposite  Pertzev's  house.  He  walked  back  and 
forth  a  long  time,  counted  the  windows  in  the 
house,  measured  its  width  with  his  steps,  studied  in 
all  its  details  the  grey  front  flabby  with  old  age, 
and  finally  grew  tired.  But  he  had  not  much  time 
to  rest.  The  writer  himself  came  out  of  the  door 
with  an  overcoat  flung  over  his  shoulders,  no  over- 
shoes on  his  feet,  his  hat  on  one  side  of  his  head. 
He  walked  across  the  street  straight  up  to  Yevsey. 

"  He  will  give  me  a  slap  in  the  face,"  thought 
Yevsey,  looking  at  the  sullen  face  and  the  lowering 
red  brows.  He  tried  to  rise  and  go  away,  but  was 
unable  to  move,  chained  to  the  spot  by  fear. 

M  Why  are  you  sitting  here?  "  he  heard  an  angry 
voice. 

"  Nothing." 

"  Get  away  from  here." 

"  I  can't" 


THE  SPY  193 

"  Here's  a  letter.  Go.  Give  it  to  him  who 
sent  you  here." 

"  I  can't." 

"Why  not?" 

The  large  blue  eyes  commanded.  Yevsey  had 
not  the  power  to  disobey  the -look.  Turning  his 
face  aside  he  mumbled : 

"I  —  I  —  I  have  no  permission  —  to  take  any- 
thing from  you  — -  or  to  converse  with  you.  I  am 
going  away." 

11  Yes,  go  away,"  the  author  commanded,  and 
for  some  reason  smiled  a  morose  smile. 

Klimkov  took  the  grey  envelope,  and  walked 
away,  without  asking  himself  where  he  was  going. 
He  held  the  envelope  in  his  right  hand  on  a  level 
with  his  breast,  as  if  it  were  something  murderous, 
threatening  unknown  misfortune.  His  fingers 
ached  as  from  cold. 

"  What  is  going  to  happen  to  me?"  knocked 
importunately  at  his  brain. 

Suddenly  he  noticed  the  envelope  was  not  sealed. 
This  amazed  him.  He  stopped,  looked  around, 
and  quickly  removed  the  letter. 

"  Take  this  dunce  away  from  me.  Mironov," 
he  read. 

He  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

11  I  must  give  this  to  Maklakov.  He  will  scold 
me.  Maybe  I  ought  to  turn  back.  But  it's  not 
necessary.  Somebody  else  will  come  soon  any- 
way." 


194  THE  SPY 

Though  his  fear  had  disappeared,  Yevsey  felt 
sad  from  the  realization  of  his  unfitness  for  the  po- 
sition, and  he  felt  heavy  at  the  thought  that  he  had 
again  failed  to  suit  the  spy,  whom  he  liked  so  much. 

He  found  Maklakov  at  dinner  in  the  company 
of  a  little  squint-eyed  man  dressed  in  black. 

"  Let  me  introduce  you.  Klimkov  —  Krasa- 
vin." 

Yevsey  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  to  get  out  the 
letter,  and  said  in  an  embarrassed  tone: 

"  This  is  the  way  it  happened  — " 

Maklakov  held  up  his  hand. 

"  You  will  tell  me  later.  Sit  down,  and  have 
your  dinner." 

His  face  was  weary,  his  eyes  dim,  his  light 
straight  hair  dishevelled. 

"  Evidently  got  drunk  yesterday,"  thought  Yev- 
sey. 

"  No,  Timofey  Vasilyevich,',  the  squint-eyed 
man  said  coldly  and  solemnly.  "  You  are  not 
right.  There's  something  pleasant  in  every  line  of 
work  if  you  love  it." 

Maklakov  looked  at  him,  and  drank  a  large  glass 
of  whiskey  in  one  gulp. 

"  They  are  people,  we  are  people,  that  doesn't 
signify  anything.  One  says  this,  another  says  that, 
and  I  do  just  as  I  please." 

The  squint-eyed  man  noticed  that  Yevsey  was 
looking  at  his  eyeballs  as  they  rolled  apart,  and  put 


THE  SPY  195 

on  a  pair  of  glasses  with  tortoise-shell  rims.  His 
movements  were  soft  and  alert,  like  a  black  cat's. 
His  teeth  were  small  and  sharp,  his  nose  straight 
and  thin.  When  he  spoke  his  rosy  ears  moved. 
His  crooked  fingers  kept  quickly  rolling  a  crumb  of 
bread  into  little  pellets,  which  he  placed  on  the  edge 
of  his  plate. 

"  An  assistant?  "  he  asked,  nodding  his  head  to- 
ward Yevsey. 

"  Yes." 

"  How's  business,  young  man?  " 

"  I  just  began  yesterday." 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  Krasavin  nodded  his  head.  Pinch- 
ing his  thin  dark  mustache,  he  began  to  speak 
fluently:  "  Of  course,  Timofey  Vasilyevich,  you 
can't  step  on  the  trail  of  life's  destiny.  According 
to  God's  law,  children  grow  old,  people  die.  Only 
all  this  doesn't  concern  you  and  me.  We  received 
our  appointed  task.  We  are  told  to  catch  the 
people  who  infringe  on  law  and  order.  That's  all. 
It's. a  hard  business,  it's  a  clever  business.  To  use 
a  figure  of  speech,  it  is  a  kind  of  hunt." 

Maklakov  rose  from  the  table,  and  walked  into 
a  corner,  from  where  he  beckoned  to  Yevsey. 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

Yevsey  gave  him  the  note.  The  spy  read  it, 
looked  into  Klimkov's  face  in  astonishment,  and 
read  it  again. 

"  From  whom  is  this?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 


196  THE  SPY 

Yevsey  answered  in  an  embarrassed  whisper. 

"  He  himself  gave  it  to  me.  He  came  out  into 
the  street. " 

In  the  expectation  of  a  rebuke,  or  even  a  blow, 
he  bent  his  neck.  But  hearing  a  low  laugh  he  cau- 
tiously raised  his  head,  and  saw  the  spy  looking  at 
the  envelope  with  a  broad  smile  on  his  face  and  a 
merry  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  you  strange  fellow,"  said  Maklakov. 
"  Now  keep  quiet  about  this,  you  droll  creature." 

"  Can  I  congratulate  you  on  a  successful  piece 
of  work?  "  asked  Krasavin. 

u  You  can.  Yes."  Maklakov  said  aloud,  walk- 
ing up  to  him. 

"  That's  good,  young  man,"  remarked  Krasavin 
encouragingly.  His  pupils  with  green  sparks  flash- 
ing in  them  turned  inward  to  the  bridge  of  his  nose, 
and  his  nostrils  quivered  and  expanded. 

"  But  the  Japs  licked  us  after  all,  Gavrilo," 
Maklakov  exclaimed  merrily,  rubbing  his  hands. 

"  I  cannot  in  the  least  comprehend  your  joy  in 
this  event,"  said  Krasavin  wagging  his  ears.  "  Al- 
though it  was  instructive,  as  many  say,  still  so 
much  Russian  blood  was  shed  and  the  insufficiency 
of  our  strength  was  made  so  apparent." 

"  And  who  is  to  blame?  " 

"The  Japs.  What  do  they  want?  Every- 
country  ought  to  live  within  itself." 

They  started  a  discussion,  to  which  Yevsey,  re- 
joiced over  Maklakov's  attitude,  did  not  pay  any 


THE  SPY  197 

attention.  He  looked  into  the  spy's  face,  and 
thought  it  would  be  well  to  live  with  him  instead 
of  Piotr,  who  scolded  at  the  authorities,  and  maybe 
would  be  arrested  as  they  had  arrested  the  Smoke- 
stack. 

Krasavin  left.  Maklakov  took  out  the  letter, 
read  it  once  more,  and  burst  into  a  laugh,  looking 
at  Yevsey. 

"  Now  don't  say  a  word  about  it  to  anybody. 
Do  you  understand?     He  came  out  himself?  " 

"  Yes.  He  came  out,  and  said,  '  Get  away  from 
here.'  "     Yevsey  smiled  guiltily. 

"  You  see  another  one  in  his  place  would  have 
stroked  you  with  a  cat's  paw."  Screwing  up  his 
eyes  the  spy  looked  through  the  window,  and  said 
slowly,  "  Yes,  you  ought  to  take  to  peddling  wares. 
I  told  you  so.  To-day  you  are  free.  I  have  no 
more  commissions  for  you.  Be  off  with  you. 
Have  a  good  time.  I'll  try  one  of  these  days  to 
fix  you  up  differently.     Good-by." 

Maklakov  held  out  his  hand.  Yevsey  touched 
it  gratefully,  and  walked  away  happy. 


/ 


CHAPTER  XV 

i 

A  FEW  weeks  later  Klimkov  began  to  feel  freer 
and  more  at  ease.  Every  morning,  warmly 
and  comfortably  dressed,  with  a  box  of  small  wares 
on  his  breast,  he  went  to  receive  orders  either  at 
one  of  the  cafes  where  the  spies  gathered,  or  at  a 
police  office,  or  at  the  lodging  of  one  of  the  spies. 
The  directions  given  him  were  simple  and  distinct. 

"  Go  to  such  and  such  a  house.  Get  acquainted 
with  the  servants.     Find  out  how  the  masters  live." 

If  he  succeeded  in  penetrating  to  the  kitchen  of 
the  given  house,  he  would  first  try  to  bribe  the  ser- 
vants by  the  cheap  price  of  the  goods  and  by  little 
presents.  Then  he  would  carefully  question  them 
about  what  he  had  been  ordered  to  learn.  When 
he  felt  that  the  information  gathered  was  insuffi- 
cient, he  filled  up  the  deficiency  from  his  own  head, 
thinking  it  out  according  to  the  plan  draughted  for 
him  by  the  old,  fat,  and  sensual  Solovyov. 

"  These  men  in  whom  we  are  interested,"  Solov- 
yov. once  said  in  a  smug,  honey-sweet  voice,  "  all 
have  the  same  habits.  They  do  not  believe  in 
God,  they  do  not  go  to  church,  they  dress  poorly, 
but  they  are  civil  in  their  manners.  They  read 
many  books,  sit  up  late  at  night,  often  have  gath- 

198 


THE  SPY  199 

erings  of  guests  in  their  lodgings,,  but  drink  very- 
little  wine,  and  do  not  play  cards.  They  speak 
about  foreign  countries,  about  systems  of  govern- 
ment, workingmen's  socialism  and  full  liberty  for 
the  people.  Also  about  the  poor  masses,  declar- 
ing it  is  necessary  to  stir  them  up  to  revolt  against 
our  Czar,  to  kill  out  the  entire  administration,  take 
possession  of  the  highest  offices,  and  by  means  of  * 
socialism  again  introduce  serfdom,  in  which  they 
will  have  complete  liberty.',  The  warm  voice  of  * 
the  spy  broke  off.  He  coughed  and  heaved  a  sen- 
timental sigh.  "  Liberty  —  everybody  likes  and 
wants  to  have  liberty.  But  if  you  give  me  liberty, 
maybe  I'll  become  the  first  villain  in  the  world. 
That's  it.  It  is  impossible  to  give  even  a  child  full 
liberty.  The  Church  Fathers,  God's  saints,  even 
they  were  subject  to  temptations  of  the  flesh,  and 
they  sinned  in  the  very  highest.  People's  lives 
are  held  together,  not  by  liberty  but  by  fear.  Sub- 
mission to  law  is  essential  to  man.  But  the  revo- 
lutionists reject  law.  They  form  two  parties. 
•^One  wants  to  make  quick  work  with  the  ministers^" 
and  the  faithful  subjects  of  the  Czar  by  means  of 
bombs,  etc.  The  other  party  is  willing  to  wait  a 
little;  first  they'll  have  a  general  uprising,  then 
they'll  kill  off  everybody  at  once."  Solovyov  raised 
his  eyes  pensively,  and  paused  an  instant.  "  It  is 
difficult  for  us  to  comprehend  their  politics. 
Maybe  they  really  understand  something.  But 
for  us  everything  they  propose  is  an  obnoxious  de- 


200  THE  SPY 

V*  lusion.  We  fulfil  the  will  of  the  Czar,  the  anointed 
sovereign  of  God.  And  he  is  responsible  for  us 
before  God,  so  we  ought  to  do  what  he  bids  us. 
In  order  to  gain  the  confidence  of  the  revolutionists 
you  must  complain,  *  Life  is  very  hard  for  the  poor, 
the  police  insult  them,  and  there's  no  sort  of  law.' 
Although  they  are  people  of  villainous  intent,  yet 
they  are  credulous,  and  you  can  always  catch  them 
with  that  bait.  Behave  cannily  toward  their  serv- 
ants ;  for  their  servants  aren't  stupid,  either.  When- 
ever necessary,  reduce  the  price  of  your  goods,  so 
that  they  will  get  used  to  you  and  value  you.  But 
guard  against  exciting  suspicion.  They  will  begin 
to  think,  '  What  is  it  ?  He  sells  very  cheap,  and 
asks  prying  questions.'  The  best  thing  for  you  to 
do  is  to  strike  up  friendships.  Take  a  little  dainty, 
hot,  fullbreasted  thing,  and  you'll  get  all  sorts  of 
good  information  from  her.  She  will  sew  shirts 
for'you,  and  invite  you  to  spend  the  night  with  her, 
and  she  will  find  out  whatever  you  order  her  to. 
You  know  —  a  tiny,  soft  little  mouse.  You  can 
stretch  your  arm  a  long  distance  through  a  wo- 
man." 

This  round  man,  hairy-handed,  thick-lipped,  and 
pock-marked,  spoke  about  women  more  frequently 
than  the  others.  He  would  lower  his  soft  voice  to 
a  whisper,  his  neck  would  perspire,  his  feet  would 
shuffle  uneasily,  and  his  eyes,  minus  eyebrows  and 
eyelashes,   would   fill  with  warm,   oily  moisture. 


THE  SPY  201 

Yevsey  with  his  sharp  scent  observed  that  Solov- 
yov  always  smelt  of  hot,  greasy,  decayed  meat. 

In  the  chancery  the  spies  had  been  spoken  of  as 
people  who  know  everything,  hold  everything  in 
their  hands,  and  have  friends  and  helpers  every- 
where. Though  they  could  seize  all  the  dangerous 
people  at  once,  they  were  not  doing  so  simply  be- 
cause they  did  not  wish  to  deprive  themselves  of  a 
position.  On  entering  the  Department  of  Safety 
everyone  swore  an  oath  to  pity  nobody,  neither 
father,  mother,  nor  brother,  nor  to  speak  a  word 
to  one  another  about  the  sacred  and  awful  business 
which  they  vowed  they  would  serve  all  their  lives. 

Consequently  Yevsey  had  expected  to  find  sullen 
personalities.  He  had  pictured  them  as  speaking 
little  in  words  unintelligible  to  simple  people,  as 
possessing  the  miraculous  perspicacity  of  a  sorcerer, 
able  to  read  a  man's  thoughts  and  divine  all  the 
secrets  of  his  life. 

Now  from  his  sharp  observation  of  them  he 
clearly  saw  they  were  not  unusual,  nor  for  him 
either  worse  or  more  dangerous  than  others.  In 
fact,  they  seemed  to  live  in  a  more  comradely  fash- 
ion than  was  common.  They  frankly  spoke  of 
their  mistakes  and  failures,  even  laughed  over 
them.  All  without  exception  were  equally  fervent 
in  swearing  at  their  superiors,  though  with  varying 
degrees  of  malice. 

Conscious  of  a  close  bond  uniting  them  they 


202  THE  SPY 

were  solicitous  for  one  another.  When  it  hap- 
pened that  someone  was  late  for  a  meeting  or  failed 
to  appear  at  all,  there  was  a  general  sense  of  uneasi- 
ness about  the  absentee,  and  Yevsey,  Zarubin,  or 
someone  of  the  numerous  group  of  "  novices,"  or 
"  assistants  "  was  sent  to  look  for  the  lost  man  at 
another  gathering  place. 

A  stranger  observing  them  would  have  been 
instantly  struck  by  the  lack  of  greed  for  money 
among  the  majority  and  the  readiness  to  share 
money  with  comrades  who  had  gambled  it  away  or 
squandered  it  in  some  other  fashion.  They  all 
loved  games  of  hazard,  took  a  childish  interest  in 
card  tricks,  and  envied  the  cleverness  of  the  card- 
sharper. 

They  spoke  to  one  another  with  ecstasy  and  acute 
envy  of  the  revelries  of  the  officials,  described  in 
detail  the  bodies  of  the  lewd  women  known  to  them, 
and  hotly  discussed  the  various  processes  of  the 
sexual  relation.  Most  of  them  were  unmarried, 
almost  all  were  young,  and  for  everyone  of  them 
a  woman  was  something  in  the  nature  of  whiskey 
—  to  give  him  ease  and  lull  him  to  sleep.  Women 
brought  them  relief  from  the  anxiety  of  their  dog's 
work.  Almost  all  kept  indecent  photographs  in 
their  pockets,  and  looked  at  them  with  greed  while 
talking  obscenities.  Such  discussion  roused  in 
Yevsey  a  sharp,  intoxicating  curiosity,  sometimes 
incredulity  and  nausea.     He  soon  came  to  know 


THE  SPY  203    \ 

that  some  of  the  spies  practised  pederasty  and  sod- 
omy, and  that  very  many  were  infected  with  secret 
diseases.  All  of  them  drank  much,  mixing  wine 
with  beer,  and  beer  with  cognac,  in  an  effort  to  get 
drunk  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Only  a  few  of  them  put  hot  enthusiasm,  the  pas- 
sion of  the  hunter,  into  their  work.  These  boasted 
of  their  skill,  swelling  with  pride  as  they  described 
themselves  as  heroes.  The  majority,  however,  did 
their  work  wearily,  with  an  air  of  being  bored. 

Their  talks  about  the  people  whom  they  hunted 
down  like  beasts  were  seldom  marked  by  the  fierce 
hatred  that  boiled  in  Sasha's  conversation  like  a 
seething  hot-spring.  One  who  was  different  from 
the  rest  was  Melnikov,  a  heavy,  hairy  man  with  a 
thick,  bellowing  voice,  who  walked  with  oddly  bent 
neck  and  spoke  little.  His  dark  eyes  were  always 
straining,  as  if  in  constant  search.  The  man 
seemed  to  Yevsey  ever  to  be  thinking  of  something 
terrible.  Krasavin  and  Solovyov  also  contrasted 
with  the  others,  the  one  by  his  cold  malice,  the 
other  by  the  complacent  satisfaction  with  which  he 
spoke  about  fights,  blood-shed,  and  women. 

Among  the  youth  the  most  noticeable  was  Ya- 
kov  Zarubin,  who  was  constantly  fidgetting  about 
and  constantly  running  up  to  the  others  with  ques- 
tions. When  he  listened  to  the  conversations 
about  the  revolutionists  he  knitted  his  brows  in 
anger  and  jotted  down  notes  in  his  little  note-book. 


204  THE  SPY 

He  tried  to  be  of  service  to  all  the  important  spies, 
though  it  was  evident  that  no  one  liked  him  and 
that  his  book  was  regarded  with  suspicion. 

The  larger  number  spoke  indifferently  about  the 
revolutionists,  sometimes  denouncing  them  as  in- 
comprehensible men  of  whom  they  were  sick,  some- 
times referring  to  them  in  fun  as  to  amusing  cranks. 
Occasionally,  too,  they  spoke  in  anger  as  one  speaks 
of  a  child  who  deserves  punishment  for  impudence. 
Yevsey  began  to  imagine  that  all  the  revolutionists 
were  empty  people  who  were  not  serious,  and  did 
not  themselves  know  what  they  wanted,  but  merely 
brought  disturbance  and  disorder  into  life. 

Once  Yevsey  asked  Piotr: 

"  There,  you  said  the  revolutionists  are  being 
bribed  by  the  Germans,  and  now  they  say  differ- 
ently." 

u  What  do  you  mean  by  '  differently? '  "  Piotr 
demanded  angrily. 

"  That  they  are  poor  and  stupid,  and  nobody 
says  anything  about  the  Germans." 

11  Go  to  the  devil,  brother !  Isn't  it  all  the  same 
to  you  ?  Do  what  you  are  told  to  do.  Your  color 
is  the  diamond,  and  you  go  with  diamonds." 

Matters  of  business  were  discussed  in  a  lazy,  un- 
willing way,  and  "  You  don't  understand  anything, 
brother,"  was  a  common  rejoinder  of  one  spy  to 
another. 

11  And  you?  "  would  be  the  counter-retort. 

"  I  keep  quiet." 


THE  SPY  205 

Klimkov  tried  to  keep  as  far  away  as  possible 
from  Sasha.  The  ominous  face  of  the  sick  man 
frightened  him,  and  the  smell  of  iodoform  and  the 
snuffling,  cantankerous  voice  disgusted  him. 

"  Villains !  "  cried  Sasha  swearing  at  the  officials. 
11  They  are  given  millions,  and  toss  us  pennies. 
They  squander  hundreds  of  thousands  on  women 
and  on  various  genteel  folk,  who,  they  want  us  to 
believe,  work  for  the  good  of  society.  But  it's 
not  the  gentry  that  make  revolutions  —  you  must 
know  that,  idiots, —  the  revolution  grows  under- 
neath, in  the  ground,  among  the  people.  Give  me 
five  millions,  and  in  one  month  I'll  lift  the  revolu- 
tion up  above  ground  into  the  street.  I'll  carry  it 
out  of  the  dark  corners  into  the  light  of  day. 
Then  —  choke  it !  " 

Sasha  always  contrived  horrible  schemes  for 
the  extermination  of  the  noxious  people.  While 
devising  them  he  stamped  his  feet,  extended  his 
trembling  arms,  and  tore  the  air  with  his  yellow 
fingers,  while  his  face  turned  leaden,  his  red  eyes 
grew  strangely  dim,  and  the  spittle  spurted  from 
his  mouth. 

All,  it  was  evident,  looked  upon  him  with 
aversion  and  feared  him,  though  they  were  anxious 
to  conceal  the  repulsion  produced  by  his  disease. 
Maklakov  alone  calmly  avoided  close  intercourse 
with  the  sick  man.  He  did  not  even  give  him 
his  hand  in  greeting.  Sasha,  in  his  turn,  who 
ridiculed  everybody,  who  swore  at  all  his  comrades, 


2q£  THE  SPY 

setting  them  down  as  fools,  plainly  put  Maklakov 
in  a  category  by  himself.  He  was  always  serious 
in  his  intercourse  with  the  spy,  and  apparently 
spoke  to  him  with  greater  will  than  to  the  rest. 
He  did  not  abuse  him  even  behind  his  back. 

Once  when  Maklakov  had  walked  out  without, 
as  usual,  taking  leave  of  him,  he  cried : 

"  The  nobleman  is  squeamish.  He  doesn't  want 
to  come  near  me.  He  has  the  right  to  be,  the  devil 
take  him !  His  ancestors  lived  in  lofty  rooms, 
they  breathed  rarefied  air,  ate  healthful  food,  wore 
clean  undergarments.  He,  too,  for  that  matter. 
But  I  am  a  muzhik.  I  was  born  and  brought 
up  like  an  animal,  in  filth,  among  lice,  on  coarse 
black  bread  made  of  unbolted  meal.  His  blood 
is  better  than  mine,  yes,  indeed,  both  the  blood 
and  the  brain;  and  the  brain  is  the  soul."  After 
a  pause  he  added  in  a  lower  voice,  gloomily,  with- 
out ridicule,  "  Idiots  and  impostors  speak  of  the 
equality  of  man.  The  aristocrat  preaches  equality 
because  he  is  an  impudent  scoundrel,  and  can't 
do  anything  himself.  So  of  course  he  says,  '  you 
are  just  as  good  a  man  as  I  am.  Act  so  that  I 
shall  be  able  to  live  better.'  This  is  the  theory  of 
"equality." 

Sasha's  talks  did  not  evoke  a  response  from  the 
other  spies.  They  failed  to  be  moved  by  his  ex- 
citement, and  listened  to  his  growling  in  indif- 
ferent silence.     He  received  sulky  support,  how- 


THE  SPY  207 

ever,  from  one,  the  large  Melnikov,  who  acted  as 
a  detective  among  workingmen. 

"  Yes,"  Melnikov  would  say,  "  they  are  all 
deceivers,"  and  nod  his  dark  unkempt  head  in  con- 
firmation while  vigorously  clenching  his  hairy  fist. 

"  They  ought  to  be  killed,  as  the  muzhiks  kill 
horse  thieves,"  screamed  Sasha. 

"  To  kill  may  be  a  little  too  much,  but  some- 
times it  would  be  delicious  to  give  a  gentleman  a 
box  on  the  ear,"  said  Chashin,  a  celebrated  billiard 
player,  curly-haired,  thin,  and  sharp-nosed. 
"  Let's  take  this  example.  About  a  week  ago  I 
was  playing  in  Kononov's  hotel  with  a  gentleman. 
I  saw  his  face  was  familiar  to  me,  but  all  chickens 
have  feathers.  He  stared  at  me  in  his  turn. 
1  Well,'  thinks  I,  '  look.  I  don't  change  color.' 
I  fixed  him  for  three  rubles  and  half  a  dozen  beers, 
and  while  we  were  drinking  he  suddenly  rose,  and 
said,  '  I  recognize  you.  You  are  a  spy.  When 
I  was  in  the  university,'  he  said,  '  thanks  to  you,' 
he  said,  '  I  had  to  stick  in  prison  four  months. 
You  are,'  he  said,  '  a  scoundrel.'  At  first  I  was 
frightened,  but  soon  the  insult  gnawed  at  my  heart. 
■  You  sat  in  prison  not  at  all  thanks  to  me,  but  to 
your  politics.  And  your  politics  do  not  concern 
me  personally.  But  let  me  tell  you  that  on  your 
account  I  had  to  run  about  day  and  night  hunting 
you  in  all  sorts  of  weather.  I  had  to  stick  in  the 
hospital  thirteen  days.'     That's  the  truth.     The 


208  THE  SPY 

idea  for  him  to  jump  on  me!  The  pig,  he  ate 
himself  fat  as  a  priest,  wore  a  gold  watch,  and 
had  a  diamond  pin  stuck  in  his  tie." 

Akim  Grokhotov,  a  handsome  fellow,  with  a 
face  mobile  as  an  actor's  observed: 
vv  "  I  know  men  like  that,  too.  When  they  are 
young,  they  walk  on  their  heads ;  when  the  serious 
years  come,  they  stay  at  home  peacefully  with 
their  wives,  and  for  the  sake  of  a  livelihood  are 
even  ready  to  enter  our  Department  of  Safety. 
The  law  of  nature." 

"  Among  them  are  some  who  can't  do  anything 
besides  revolutionary  work.  Those  are  the  most 
dangerous,"  said  Melnikov. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  shot  from  Krasavin,  who  greedily 
rolled  his  oblique  eyes. 

Once  Piotr  lost  a  great  deal  in  cards.  He  asked 
in  a  wearied,  exasperated  tone : 

"When  will  this  dog's  life  of  ours  end?" 

Solovyov  looked  at  him,  and  chewed  his  thick 
lips. 

"  We  are  not  called  upon  to  judge  of  such 
matters.  Our  business  is  simple.  All  we  have 
to  do  is  to  take  note  of  a  certain  face  pointed 
out  by  the  officials,  or  to  find  it  ourselves,  gather 
information,  make  observations,  give  a  report  to 
the  authorities,  and  let  them  do  as  they  please. 
For  all  we  care  they  may  flay  people  alive. 
Politics  do  not  concern  us.  Once  there  was  an 
agent  in  our  Department,  Grisha  Sokovnin,  who 


THE  SPY  209 

also  thought  about  such  things,  and  ended  his  life 
in  a  prison  hospital  where  he  died  of  consumption." 

Oftenest  the  conversation  took  some  such  course 
as  the  following: 

Viekov,  a  wig-maker,  always  gaily  and  fashion- 
ably dressed,  a  modest,  quiet  person,  announced: 

"  Three  fellows  were  arrested  yesterday." 

».  "  Great  news !  "  someone  responded  indifferently. 
But  Viekov  whether  or  no  would  tell  his  com- 
rades all  he  knew.  A  spark  of  quiet  stubborn- 
ness flared  up  in  his  small  eyes  as  he  continued  in 
an  inquisitive  tone: 

"  The  gentlemen  revolutionists,  it  seems,  are 
again  hatching  plots  on  Nikitskaya  Street  —  great 
goings-on." 

11  Fools !  All  the  janitors  there  are  old  hands  in 
the  service." 

11  Much  help  they  are,  the  janitors !  " 

11  Hmm,  yes,  indeed." 

11  However,"  said  Viekov  cautiously,  "  a  janitor 
can  be  bribed." 

"  And  you,  too.  Every  man  can  be  bribed  —  a 
mere  matter  of  price." 

"  Did  you  hear,  boys,  Siekachev  won  seven 
hundred  rubles  in  cards  yesterday." 

"  How  he  smuggles  the  cards !  " 

"  Yes,  yes.  He's  no  sharper,  but  a  young 
wizard." 

Viekov  looked  around,  smiled  in  embarrassment, 
then  silently  and  carefully  smoothed  his  clothes. 


210  THE  SPY 

A  new  proclamation  has  appeared,"  he  an- 
nounced another  time. 

u  There  are  lots  of  proclamations.  The  devil 
knows  which  of  them  is  new." 

"  There's  a  great  deal  of  evil  in  them." 

"Did  you  read  it?" 

"  No.  Filip  Filippovich  says  there's  a  new  one, 
and  he's  mad." 

"  The  authorities  are  always  mad.  Such  is  the 
law  of  nature,"  remarked  Grokhotov  with  a  smile. 

"  Who  reads  those  proclamations?  " 

"  They're  read  all  right  —  very  much  so." 

"  Well,  what  of  it?  I  have  read  them,  too,  yet 
I  didn't  turn  black.  I  remained  what  I  was,  a 
red-haired  fellow.  It's  not  a  matter  of  procla- 
mations, it's  a  matter  of  bombs." 

"  Of  course." 

11  A  proclamation  doesn't  explode." 

Evidently,  however,  the  spies  did  not  like  to 
speak  of  bombs,  for  each  time  they  were  mentioned, 
all  made  a  strenuous  effort  to  change  the  subject. 

11  Forty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  gold  articles 
were  stolen  in  Kazan." 

11  There's  something  for  you !  " 

"  Forty  thousand !     Whew !  " 

"  Did  they  catch  the  thieves?  "  someone  asked 
in  great  excitement. 

"  They'll  get  caught,"  prophesied  another  sor- 
rowfully. 


THE  SPY  2ii 

11  Well,  before  that  happens  they'll  have  a  good 
time." 

A  mist  of  envy  enveloped  the  spies,  who  sank  in 
dreams  of  revelries,  of  big  stakes,  and  costly 
women. 

Melnikov  was  more  interested  than  the  others 
in  the  course  of  the  war.  Often  he  asked 
Maklakov,  who  read  the  newspapers  carefully: 

"Are  they  still  licking  us?" 

14  They  are." 

"But  what's  the  cause?"  Melnikov  exclaimed 
in  perplexity,  rolling  his  eyes.  "  Aren't  there 
people  enough,  or  what?  " 

"  Not  enough  sense,"  Maklakov  retorted  drily  > 

"  The  workingmen  are  dissatisfied.  They  do 
not  understand.  They  say  the  generals  have  been 
bribed." 

"  That's  certainly  true,"  Krasavin  broke  in. 
"  None  of  them  are  Russians,"  —  he  uttered  an 
ugly  oath  — "  what's  our  blood  to  them  ?  " 

11  Blood  is  cheap,"  said  Solovyov,  and  smiled 
strangely. 

As  a  rule  the  spies  spoke  of  the  war  unwillingly, 
as  if  constrained  in  one  another's  presence,  and 
afraid  of  uttering  some  dangerous  word.  On  the 
day  of  a  defeat  they  all  drank  more  whiskey  than 
usual,  and  having  gotten  drunk  quarreled  over 
trifles. 

On  such  days  Yevsey  trying  to  avoid  possible 


212  THE  SPY 

brawls  made  his  escape  unnoticed  to  his  empty 
room,  and  there  thought  about  the  life  of  the  spies. 
All  of  them  —  and  there  were  many,  their  numbers 
constantly  increasing  —  all  of  them  seemed 
unhappy.  They  were  all  solitary,  and  he  pitied 
them  with  his  colorless  pity.  Nevertheless  he 
liked  to  be  among  them  and  listen  to  their  talk. 

At  the  meetings  Sasha  boiled  over  and  swore: 

"  Monstrosities !  You  understand  nothing. 
You  can't  understand  the  significance  of  the  busi- 
ness.    Monstrosities !  " 

In  answer  some  smiled  deprecatingly,  others 
maintained  sullen  silence. 

"  For  forty  rubles  a  month  you  can't  be  expected 
to  understand  very  much,"  one  would  sometimes 
mutter. 

"  You  ought  to  be  wiped  off  the  face  of  the 
earth,"  shrieked  Sasha. 

Klimkov  began  to  dislike  Sasha  more  and 
more,  strengthened  in  his  ill-will  by  the  fact  that 
nobody  else  cared  for  the  diseased  man. 
r  Many  of  the  spies  were  actually  sick  from  the 
constant  dread  of  attacks  and  death.  Fear  drove 
some,  as  it  had  Yelizar  Titov,  into  an  insane, 
asylum. 

"  I  was  playing  in  the  club  yesterday,"  said 
Piotr,  in  a  disconcerted  tone,  "  when  I  felt  some- 
thing pressing  on  the  nape  of  my  neck  and  a 
cold  shiver  running  up  and  down  my  back-bone. 
I  looked  around.     There  in  the  corner  stood  a 


THE  SPY  213 

tall  man  looking  at  me  as  if  he  were  measuring 
me  inch  by  inch.  I  could  not  play.  I  rose  from 
the  table,  and  I  saw  him  move.  I  backed  out,  and 
ran  down  the  stairs  into  the  yard  and  out  into 
(  the  street.  I  took  a  cab,  sat  in  it  sidewise,  and 
looked  back.  Suddenly  the  man  appeared  from 
somewhere  in  front  of  me,  and  crossed  the  street 
under  the  horse's  very  nose.  Maybe  it  wasn't  he. 
But  in  such  a  case  you  can't  think.  How  I  yelled ! 
He  stopped,  and  I  jumped  out  of  the  cab,  and  off 
I  went  at  a  gallop,  the  cabman  after  me.  Well, 
how  I  did  run,  the  devil  take  it !  " 

"  Such  things  happen,"  said  Grokhotov,  smiling. 
"  I  once  hid  myself  for  a  similar  reason  in  the 
yard.  But  it  was  still  more  horrible  there,  so 
I  climbed  up  to  a  roof,  and  sat  there  behind  the 
chimney  until  daybreak.  A  man  must  guard 
himself  against  another  man.  Such  is  the  law 
of  nature." 

Krasavin  once  entered  pale  and  sweating  with 
staring  eyes. 

"  They  were  following  me,"  he  announced 
gloomily,  pressing  his  temples. 

"Who?" 

"  They." 

Solovyov  endeavored  to  calm  him. 

"  Lots  of  people  walk  the  streets,  Gavrilo. 
What's  that  to  you?" 

"  I  could  tell  by  the  way  they  walked  they 
were  after  me." 


214  THE  SPY 

For  more  than  two  weeks  Yevsey  did  not  see 
Krasavin. 

The  spies  treated  Klimkov  good-naturedly,  and 
their  occasional  laughter  at  his  expense  did  not 
offend  him,  for  when  he  was  grieved  over  his 
mistakes,  they  comforted  him: 

"You'll  get  used  to  the  work." 

He  was  puzzled  as  to  when  the  spies  did  their 
work,  and  tried  to  unriddle  the  problem.  .They 
seemed  to  pass  the  greater  part  of  their  time  in 
the  cafes,  sending  novices  and  such  insignificant 
fellows  as  himself  out  foe  observations. 

He  knew  that  besides  all  the  spies  with  whom 
he  was  acquainted  there  were  still  others,  desperate, 
fearless  men,  who  mingled  with  the  revolutionists, 
and  were  known  by  the  name  of  provocators. 
There  were  only  a  few  such  men,  but  these  few 
did  most  of  the  work,  and  directed  it  entirely. 
The  authorities  prized  them  very  highly,  while 
the  street  spies,  envious  of  them,  were  unanimous 
in  their  dislike  of  the  provocators  because  of  their 
haughtiness. 

Once  in  the  street  Grokhotov  pointed  out  a 
provocator  to  Yevsey. 

"Look,  Klimkov,  quick!" 

A  tall  sturdy  man  was  walking  along  the  pave- 
ment. His  fair  hair  combed  back  fell  down  beauti- 
fully from  under  his  hat  to  his  shoulders.  His 
face  was  large  and  handsome,  his  mustache 
luxuriant.     His  soberly  clad  person  produced  the 


THE  SPY  215 

impression  of  that  of  an  important,  well-fed 
gentleman  of  the  nobility. 

"  You  see  what  a  fellow?  "  said  Grokhotov  with 
pride.  "Fine,  isn't  he?  Our  guard.  He  de- 
livered up  twenty  men  of  the  bomb.  He  helped 
them  make  the  bombs  himself.  They  wanted  to 
blow  up  a  minister.  He  taught  them,  then 
delivered  them  up.  Clever  piece  of  business, 
wasn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Yevsey,  amazed  at  the  man's  stately 
appearance  so  unlike  that  of  the  busy,  bustling 
street  spies. 

"  That's  the  kind  they  are,  the  real  ones,"  said 
Grokhotov.  "Why,  he  would  do  for  a  minister; 
he  has  the  face  and  figure  for  it.  And  we  — 
what  are  we?  Poverty-stricken  dependents  upon 
a  hungry  nobleman." 

Yevsey  sighed.  The  magnificent  spy  aroused 
his  envy. 

Ready^  to  serve  anybody  and  everybody  for  a 
goooTTook  or  a  kind  word,  he  ran  about  the  city 
^obTrJiently,  searched,  questioned,  and  informed. 
IfTie  succeeded  in  pleasing,  he  rejoiced  sincerely, 
and  grew  in  his  own  estimation.  He  worked 
much,  made  himself  very  tired,  and  had  no  time 
to  think. 

Maklakov,  reserved  and  serious,  seemed  better 
and  purer  to  Yevsey  than  any  person  he  had  met 
up  to  that  time.  He  always  wanted  to  ask  him 
about  something,   and  tell  him  about  himself  — 


2i6  THE  SPY 

such  an  attractive  and  engaging  face  did  this  young 
spy  have. 

Once  Yevsey  actually  put  a  question  to  him : 

"  Timofey  Vesilyevich,  how  much  do  the  revo- 
lutionists receive  a  month?" 

A  light  shadow  passed  over  Maklakov's  bright 
eyes. 

"  You  are  talking  nonsense,"  he  answered,  not  in 
a   loud  voice,   but   angrily. 

The  days  passed  quickly,  in  a  constant  stir,  one 
just  like  the  other.  At  times  Yevsey  felt  they 
would  file  on  in  the  same  way  far  into  the  future  — 
vari-colored,  boisterous,  filled  with  the  talks  now 
become  familiar  to  him  and  with  the  running  about 
to  which  he  had  already  grown  accustomed.  This 
thought  enfolded  his  heart  in  cold  tedium,  his 
body  in  enfeebling  languor.  Everything  within 
and  without  became  empty.  Klimkov  seemed  to 
be  sliding  down  into  a  bottomless  pit.  4 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TN  the  middle  of  the  winter  everything  sud- 
denly trembled  and  shook.  People  anxiously 
opened  their  eyes,  gesticulated,  disputed  furiously, 
and  swore.  As  though  severely  wounded  and 
blinded  by  a  blow,  they  all  stampeded  to  one  place. 
It  began  in  this  way.  One  evening  on  reaching 
the  Department  of  Safety  to  hand  in  a  hurried 
report  of  his  investigations,  Klimkov  found  some- 
thing unusual  and  incomprehensible  in  the  place. 
The  officials,  agents,  and  clerks  appeared  to  have 
put  on  new  faces.  All  seemed  strangely  unlike 
themselves.  They  wore  an  air  of  astonishment 
and  rejoicing.  They  spoke  now  in  very  low  tones 
and  mysteriously,  now  aloud  and  angrily.  There 
was  a  senseless  running  from  room  to  room,  a 
listening  to  one  another's  words,  a  suspicious  screw- 
ing-up  of  anxious  eyes,  a  shaking  of  heads  and 
sighing,  a  sudden  cessation  of  talk,  and  an  equally 
sudden  burst  of  disputing.  A  whirlwind  of  fear 
and  perplexity  swept  the  room  in  broad  circles. 
Playing  with  the  people's  impotence  it  drove  them 
about  like  dust,  first  blowing  them  into  a  pile, 
then  scattering  them  on  all  sides.  Klimkov  sta- 
tioned in  a  corner  looked  with  vacant  eyes  upon 

217 


2i8  THE  SPY 

this  state  of  consternation,  and  listened  to  the  con- 
versation with  strained  attention. 

He  saw  Melnikov  with  his  powerful  neck  bent 
and  his  head  stuck  forward  place  his  hairy  hands 
on  different  persons'  shoulders  and  demand  in 
his  low  hollow  voice: 

"  Why  did  the  people  do  it?  " 

"What  of  it?  The  people  must  live. 
Hundreds  were  killed,  eh?  Wounded!  "  shouted 
Solovyov. 

From  somewhere  came  the  repulsive  voice  of 
Sasha,  cutting  the  ear. 

"  The  priest  ought  to  have  been  caught. 
That  before  everything  else.     The   idiots !  " 

Krasavin  walked  about  with  his  hands  folded 
behind  his  back,  biting  his  lips  and  rolling  his  eyes 
in  every  direction. 

Quiet  Viekov  took  up  his  stand  beside  Yevsey, 
and  picked  at  the  buttons  of  his  vest. 

"  So  this  is  the  point  we've  reached,"  he  said.  ) 
"  My   God !     Bloodshed !     What   do  you  think, 
eh?" 

"What    happened?"     Yevsey  asked. 

Viekov  looked  around  warily,  took  Klimkov  by 
the  hand,  and  whispered: 

"  This  morning  the  people  in  St.  Petersburg 
with  a  priest  and  sacred  banners  marched  to  the 
Czar  Emperor.  You  understand?  But  they  were 
not  admitted.  The  soldiers  were  stationed  about, 
and  blood  was  spilled." 


THE  SPY  219 

A  handsome  staid  gentleman,  Leontyev,  ran 
past  them,  glanced  back  at  Viekov  through  his 
pince  nez,   and  asked: 

"  Where  is  Filip  Filippovich?  " 

But  he  disappeared  without  waiting  for  the 
information  he  wanted,  and  Viekov  ran  after 
him. 

Yevsey  closed  his  eyes  for  a  minute,  in  order 
to  try  in  the  darkness  to  get  at  the  meaning  of 
what  had  been  told  him.  He  could  easily 
represent  to  himself  a  mass  of  people  walking 
through  the  streets  in  a  sacred  procession,  but 
since  he  could  not  understand  why  the  soldiers  had 
shot  at  them,  he  was  skeptical  about  the  affair. 
However,  the  general  agitation  seized  him,  too, 
and  he  felt  disturbed  and  ill  at  ease.  He  wanted 
to  bustle  about  with  the  spies,  but  unable  to  make 
up  his  mind  to  approach  those  he  knew,  he  merely 
retreated  still  farther  into  his  corner. 

Many  persons  passed  by  him,  all  of  whom,  he 
fancied,  were  quickly  searching  for  a  little  cosy 
corner  where  they  might  stand  to  collect  their 
thoughts. 

Maklakov  appeared.  He  remained  near  the 
door  with  his  hands  thrust  into  his  pockets,  and 
looked  sidewise  at  everybody.  Melnikov  ap- 
proached him. 

"  Did  they  do  it  on  account  of  the  war?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"For  what  else?     If  it  was  the  people.     But 


220  THE  SPY 

maybe  it  was  simply  some  mistake.  Eh?  What 
did  they  ask  for,  do  you  know?  " 

"  A  constitution,"  replied  Maklakov. 

The  sullen  spy  shook  his  head. 

11 1  don't  believe  it." 

"  As  you  please." 

Then  Melnikov  turned  heavily,  like  a  bear,  and 
walked  away  grumbling: 

"  No  one  understands  anything.  They  stir 
about,  make  a  big  noise  —  " 

Yevsey  went  up  to  Maklakov,  who  was  looking 
at  him. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  have  a  report." 

Maklakov  waved  him  aside. 

"  Who  wants  to  bother  about  reports  to-day." 

Yevsey  drew  still  nearer,  and  asked : 

11  Timofey  Vasilyevich,  what  does  '  constitution  f 
mean?  " 

"  A  different  order  of  life,"  answered  the  spy 
in  a  low  voice. 

Solovyov,  perspiring  and  red,  came  running  up. 

"  Have  you  heard  whether  they  are  going  to 
send  us  to  St.  Petersburg?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't." 

11  I  think  they  probably  will.  Such  an  event ! 
Why,  it's  a  revolt,  a  real  revolt." 

"  To-morrow  we  will  know." 

"How  much  blood  has  been  shed!  What 
is  it?" 


THE  SPY  221 

Maklakov's  eye  ran  about  uneasily.  To-day  his 
shoulders  seemed  more  stooping  than  ever,  and  the 
ends  of  his  mustache  dropped  downward. 

Something  seemed  to  be  revolting  in  Yevsey's 
brain,  and  Maklakov's  grim  words  kept  repeating 
themselves. 

"A  different  order  of  life  —  different." 

They  gripped  at  his  heart,  arousing  a  sharp 
desire  to  extract  their  meaning.  But  everything 
around  him  turned  and  darted  hither  and  thither. 
Melnikov's  angry,  resonant  voice  sounded  sick- 
eningly : 

11  The  thing  is,  to  know  what  people  did  it. 
The  working-people  are  one  thing,  simply  residents 
another.     This  differentiation  must  be  made." 

And  Krasavin  spoke  distinctly : 

"  If  even  the  people  begin  to  revolt  against  the 
Czar,  then  there  are  no  people  any  more,  only 
rebels." 

"  Wait,  and  suppose  there's  deception  here." 

11  Hey,  you  old  devil,"  whispered  Zarubin, 
hastening  up  to  Yevsey.  "  I've  struck  a  vein  of 
business.      Come  on,  I'll  tell  you." 

Klimkov  followed  him  in  silence  for  a  space, 
then  stopped. 

"Where  shall  I  go?" 

"  To  a  beer  saloon.  You  understand?  There's 
a  girl  there,  Margarita.  She  has  an  acquaintance, 
a  milliner.  At  the  milliner's  lodging  they  read 
books  on  Saturdays  —  students  and  various  other 


222  THE  SPY 

people  like  that.  So  I'm  going  to  cut  them  up. 
Ugh!" 

"  I  won't  go,"  said  Yevsey. 

11  Oh,  you !     Ugh !  " 

The  long  ribbon  of  strange  impressions  quickly 
enmeshed  Yevsey's  heart,  hindering  him  from  an 
understanding  of  what  was  happening.  He 
walked  off  home  unobserved,  carrying  away  with 
him  the  premonition  of  impending  misfortune,  a 
misfortune  that  already  lay  in  hiding  and  was 
stretching  out  irresistible  arms  to  clutch  him.  It 
filled  his  heart  with  new  fear  and  grief.  In  ex- 
pectation of  this  misfortune  he  endeavored  to  walk 
in  the  obscurity  close  against  the  houses.  He 
recalled  the  agitated  faces  and  excited  voices,  the 
disconnected  talk  about  death,  about  blood,  about 
the  huge  graves,  into  which  dozens  of  bodies  had 
been  flung  like  rubbish. 

At  home  he  stood  at  the  window  a  long  time 
looking  at  the  yellow  light  of  *  the  street-lamp. 
The  pedestrians  quickly  walked  into  the  circle  of 
its  light,  then  plunged  into  the  darkness  again.  So 
in  Yevsey's  head  a  faint  timid  light  was  casting 
a  pale  illumination  upon  a  narrow  circle,  into  which 
ignorant,  cautious  grey  thoughts,  helplessly  holding 
on  to  one  another  like  blind  people,  were  slowly 
creeping.  Small  and  lame  they  gathered  into  a 
shy  group  driven  into  one  place  like  a  swarm  of 
mosquitoes.  But  suddenly^losing  hold  of  the 
bond    uniting    them,    theyJpisappeared    without 


THE  SPY  223 

leaving  a  trace,  and  his  soul  devoid  of  them  re- 
mained like  a  desert  illuminated  by  a  solitary  ray 
from  a  sorrowful  moon. 

The  days  passed  as  in  a  delirium,  filled  with 
terrible  tales  of  the  fierce  destruction  of  people. 
For  Yevsey  these  days  crawled  slowly  over  the 
earth  like  black  eyeless  monsters,  swollen  with  the 
blood  they  had  devoured.  They  crawled  with 
their  huge  jaws  wide  open,  poisoning  the  air  with 
their  stifling,  salty  odor.  People  ran  and  fell, 
shouted  and  wept,  mingling  their  tears  with  their 
blood.  And  the  blind  monster  destroyed  them, 
crushed  old  and  young,  women  and  children. 
They  were  pushed  forward  to  their  destruction  by 
the  ruler  of  their  life,  fear,  —  fear  leaden-grey  as 
a  storm-cloud,  powerful  as  the  current  of  a  broad 
stream. 

Though  the  thing  had  happened  far  away,  in  a 
strange  city,  Yevsey  knew  that  fear  was  alive 
everywhere.  He  felt  it  all  over,  round  about 
him. 

No  one  understood  the  event,  no  one  was  able 
to  explain  it.  It  stood  before  the  people  like  a 
huge  riddle  and  frightened  them.  The  spies 
stuck  in  their  meeting  places  from  morning  until 
night,  and  did  much  reading  of  newspapers  and 
drinking  of  whiskey.  They  also  crowded  into  the 
Department  of  Safety,  where  they  disputed,  and 
pressed  close  against  one  another.  They  were  im- 
patiently awaiting  something. 


224  THE  SPY 

u  Can  anybody  explain  the  truth?"  Melnikov 
kept  asking. 

One  evening  a  few  weeks  after  the  event  there 
was  a  meeting  of  the  spies  in  the  Department  of 
Safety  at  which  Sasha  delivered  a  speech. 

"  Stop  this  nonsensical  talk,"  he  said  sharply. 
"  It's  a  scheme  of  the  Japs.  The  Japs  gave  18,- 
000,000  rubles  to  Father  Gapon  to  stir  the  people 
up  to  revolt.  You  understand  ?  The  people  were 
made  drunk  on  the  road  to  the  palace ;  the  revolu- 
tionists had  ordered  a  few  wine  shops  to  be  broken 
into.  You  understand?"  He  let  his  red  eyes 
rove  about  the  company  as  if  seeking  those  of  his 
listeners  who  disagreed  with  him.  "  They  thought 
the  Czar,  loving  the  people,  would  come  out  to 
them.  And  at  that  time  it  was  decided  to  kill  him. 
Is  it  clear  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  clear,"  shouted  Yakov  Zarubin,  and 
began  to  jot  something  down  in  his  note-book. 

"  Jackass !  "  shouted  Sasha  in  a  surly  voice. 
"  I'm  not  asking  you.  Melnikov,  do  you  under- 
stand?" 

Melnikov  was  sitting  in  a  corner,  clutching  his 
head  with  both  hands  and  swaying  to  and  fro  as 
if  he  had  the  toothache.  Without  changing  his 
position  he  answered : 

"  A  deception !  "  His  voice  struck  the  floor 
dully,  as  if  something  soft  yet  heavy  had  fallen. 

"  Yes,  a  deception,"  repeated  Sasha,  and  began 
again  to  speak  quickly  and  fluently.     Sometimes 


THE  SPY  225 

he  carefully  touched  his  forehead,  then  looked  at 
his  fingers  and  wiped  them  on  his  knee.  Yevsey 
had  the  sensation  that  even  his  words  reeked  with 
a  putrid  odor.  He  listened  wrinkling  his  fore- 
head painfully.  He  understood  everything  the 
spy  said,  but  he  felt  that  his  speech  did  not  efface, 
in  fact,  could  not  efface,  from  his  mind  the  black 
picture  of  the  bloody  holiday. 

All  were  silent,  now  and  then  shaking  their 
heads,  and  refraining  from  looking  at  one  another. 
It  was  quiet  and  gloomy.  Sasha's  words  floated 
a  long  time  over  his  auditors'  heads  touching 
nobody. 

"  If  it  was  known  that  the  people  had  been 
deceived,  then  why  were  they  killed?"  the  unex- 
pected question  suddenly  burst  from  Melnikov. 

"  Fool!  "  screamed  Sasha.  "  Suppose  you  had 
been  told  that  I  was  your  wife's  paramour,  and  you 
got  drunk  and  came  at  me  with  a  knife,  what 
should  I  do  ?  Should  I  tell  you  *  Strike !  '  even 
though  you  had  been  duped,  and  I  was  not 
guilty?" 

Melnikov  started  to  his  feet,  stretched  himself, 
and  bawled: 

"Don't  bark,  you  dog!" 

A  tremor  ran  through  Yevsey  at  his  words,  and 
Viekov  thin  and  nerveless,  who  sat  beside  him, 
whispered  in  fright: 

"  Oh,  God!     Hold  him!" 

Sasha  clenched  his  teeth,  thrust  one  hand  into 


226  THE  SPY 

his  pocket,  and  drew  back.  All  the  spies  —  there 
were  many  in  the  room  —  sat  silent  and  motion- 
less, and  waited  watching  Sasha's  hand.  Mel- 
nikov  waved  his  hat  and  walked  slowly  to  the 
door. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  your  pistol." 

He  slammed  the  door  after  him  noisily.  Viekov 
went  to  lock  it,  and  said  as  he  returned  to  his 
place : 

"What  a  dangerous  man!" 

"  So,"  continued  Sasha,  pulling  a  revolver  from 
his  pocket  and  examining  it.  "  To-morrow  morn- 
ing you  are  each  of  you  to  get  down  to  business, 
do  you  hear?  And  bear  in  mind  that  now  you 
will  all  have  more  to  do  than  before.  Part  of  us 
will  have  to  go  to  St.  Petersburg.  That's  number 
one.  Secondly,  this  is  the  very  time  that  you'll 
have  to  keep  your  eyes  and  ears  particularly  wide 
open,  because  people  will  begin  to  babble  all  sorts 
of  nonsense  in  regard  to  this  affair.  The  revolu- 
tionists will  not  be  so  careful  now,  you  under- 
stand?" 

Handsome  Grokhotov  drew  a  loud  breath  and 
said: 

"  We  understand,  never  mind !  If  it's  true  that 
the  Japs  gave  such  large  sums  of  money,  that 
explains  it,   of  course." 

"  Without  any  explanation  it's  very  hard,"  said 
someone. 

"  Ye-e-e-s." 


THE  SPY  227 

"  People  cry,  '  What  does  it  mean  ?  '  And  they 
give  you  poisonous  talk,  and  you  don't  know  how 
to  answer  back." 

11  The  people  are  very  much  interested  in  this 
revolt." 

All  these  remarks  were  made  in  an  indolent, 
bloodless  fashion  and  with  an  air  of  constraint. 

14  Well,  now  you  know  what  you  are  about,  and 
how  you  should  reply  to  the  fools,"  said  Sasha 
angrily.  "  And  if  some  donkey  should  begin  to 
bray,  take  him  by  the  neck,  whistle  for  a  policeman, 
and  off  with  him  to  the  police  station.  There 
they  have  instructions  as  to  what's  to  be  done 
with  such  people.  Ho,  Viekov,  or  somebody,  ring 
the  bell  and  order  some  Selters." 

Yakov  Zarubin   rushed  to   the  bell. 

Sasha  looked  at  him,  and  said  showing  his 
teeth : 

11  Say,  puppy,  don't  be  mad  with  me  for  having 
cut  you  off." 

"  I'm  not  mad,  Aleksandr  Nikitich." 

"  Ye-e-s,"  Grokhotov  drawled  pensively.  "  Still 
they  are  a  power,  after  all!  Consider  what  they 
accomplished. —  raised  a  hundred  thousand 
people." 

"  Stupidity  is  light,  it's  easy  to  raise,"  Sasha 
interrupted  him.  "  They  had  the  means  to  raise 
a  hundred  thousand  people;  they  had  the  money. 
Just  you  give  me  such  a  sum  of  money,  and  I'll 
show  you  how  to  make  history."     Sasha  uttered 


228  THE  SPY 

an  ugly  oath,  lifted  himself  slightly  from  the  sofa, 
stretched  out  the  thin  yellow  hand  which  held  the 
revolver,  screwed  up  his  eyes,  and  aiming  at  the 
ceiling,  cried  through  his  teeth  in  a  yearning  whine, 
"  I  would  show  you !  " 

All  these  things  —  Sasha's  words  and  gestures, 
his  eyes  and  his  smiles  —  were  familiar  to  Yevsey, 
but  now  they  seemed  impotent,  useless  as  infrequent 
drops  of  rain  in  extinguishing  a  conflagration. 
They  did  not  extinguish  fear,  and  were  power- 
less to  stop  the  quiet  growth  of  a  premonition  of 
misfortune. 

At  this  time  a  new  view  of  the  life  of  the 
people  unconsciously  developed  in  Yevsey's  mind. 
He  learned  that  on  the  one  hand  some  people  might 
gather  in  the  streets  by  the  tens  of  thousands 
in  order  to  go  to  the  rich  and  powerful  Czar 
and  ask  him  for  help,  while  others  might  kill  these 
tens  of  thousands  for  doing  so.  He  recalled 
everything  the  Smokestack  had  said  about  the  pov- 
erty of  the  people  and  the  wealth  of  the  Czar, 
and  was  convinced  that  both  sides  acted  in  the 
manner  they  did  from  fear. 

Nevertheless  the  people  astonished  him  by  their 
desperate  bravery,  and  aroused  in  him  a  feeling 
with  which  he  had  hitherto  been  unfamiliar. 

Now  as  before  when  walking  the  streets  with 
the  box  of  goods  on  his  breast,  he  carefully 
stepped  aside  for  the  passersby,  either  taking  to 
the  middle  of  the  street,  or  pressing  against  the 


THE  SPY  229 

walls  of  the  houses.  However,  he  began  to  look 
into  the  people's  faces  more  attentively,  with  a  feel- 
ing akin  to  respect,  and  his  fear  of  them  seemed  to 
have  diminished  slightly.  Men's  faces  had  sud- 
denly  changed,  acquiring  more  variety  and  sig- 
nificance of  expression.  All  began  to  talk  with  one 
another  more  willingly  and  simply,  and  to  walk 
the  streets  more  briskly,  with  a  firmer  tread. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

VTEVSEY  often  entered  a  house  occupied  by  a, 
physician  and  a  journalist  upon  whom  he  was 
assigned  to  spy.  The  physician  employed  a  wet- 
nurse  named  Masha,  a  full,  round  little  woman 
with  merry  sky-blue  eyes,  who  was  always  neat  and 
clean,  and  wore  a  white  or  blue  sarafan  with  a 
string  of  beads  around  her  bare  neck.  Her  full- 
breasted  figure  gave  the  impression  of  a  luscious, 
healthy  creature,  and  won  the  fancy  of  Yevsey, 
who  imagined  that  a  strong  savory  odor,  as  of  hot 
rye-bread,  emanated  from  her.  She  was  an  affec- 
tionate little  person.  He  loved  to  question  her 
about  the  village  and  hear  her  replies  in  a  rapid 
sing-song.  He  soon  came  to  know  all  her  rela- 
tives, where  each  one  lived,  what  was  the  occupa- 
tion of  each,  and  what  the  wages. 

He  paid  her  one  of  his  visits  five  days  later  after 
Sasha  had  explained  the  cause  of  the  uprising. 
He  found  her  sitting  on  the  bed  in  the  cook's  room 
adjoining  the  kitchen.  Her  face  was  swollen,  her 
eyes  were  red,  and  her  lower  lip  stuck  out  comic- 
ally. 

"  Good  morning,"  she  said  sullenly.  "  We 
230 


THE  SPY  231 

don't  want  anything.  Go.  We  don't  want  any- 
thing." 

"  Did  the  master  insult  you?"  Yevsey  asked. 
Though  he  knew  the  master  had  not  insulted  her, 
he  regarded  it  as  his  professional  duty  to  ask 
just  such  questions.  His  next  duty  was  to  sigh  and 
add,  "  That's  the  way  they  always  are.  You've 
got  to  work  for  them  your  whole  life  long." 

Anfisa  Petrovna,  the  cook,  a  thin,  ill-tempered 
body,  suddenly  cried  out: 

"  Her  brother-in-law  was  killed,  and  her  sister 
was  knouted.  She  had  to  be  taken  to  the  hospi- 
tal.";  ~~ 

"In  St.  Petersburg?"  Yevsey  inquired  quietly. 

"  Yes." 

Masha  drew  in  a  full  breast  of  air,  and  groaned, 
holding  her  head  in  her  hands. 

"  What  for?  "  asked  Yevsey. 

"Who  knows  them?  A  curse  upon  them!" 
shrieked  the  cook,  rattling  the  dishes  in  her  exas- 
peration. "Why  did  they  kill  all  those  people? 
That's  what  I  would  like  to  know." 

"  It  wasn't  his  fault,"  Masha  sobbed.  "  I 
know  him.  Oh,  God !  He  was  a  book-binder,  a 
peaceful  fellow.  He  didn't  drink.  He  made 
forty  rubles  a  month.  Oh,  God!  They  beat 
Tania,  and  she's  soon  to  have  a  child.  It  will  be 
her  second  child.  '  If  it's  a  boy,'  she  said,  '  I'll 
christen  him  Foma  in  honor  of  my  husband's 
friend.'     And  she  wanted  the   friend  to  be  the 


232  THE  SPY 

child's  god-father,  too.  But  they  put  a  bullet 
through  his  leg,  and  broke  his  head  open,  the 
cursed  monsters !  May  they  have  neither  sleep 
nor  rest!  May  they  be  torn  with  anguish  and 
with  shame!  May  they  choke  in  blood,  the  in- 
fernal devils !  " 

Her  words  and  tears  flowed  in  tempestuous 
streams.  Dishevelled  and  pitiful  she  screamed  in 
desperate  rage  and  scratched  her  shoulders  and  her 
breast  with  her  nails.  Then  she  flung  herself  on 
the  bed  and  buried  her  head  in  the  pillow,  moaning 
and  trembling  convulsively. 

"  Her  uncle  sent  her  a  letter  from  there,"  said 
the  cook,  running  about  in  the  kitchen  from  the 
table  to  the  stove  and  back  again.  "  You  ought 
to  see  what  he  writes !  The  whole  street  is  read- 
ing the  letter.  Nobody  can  understand  it.  The 
people  marched  with  ikons,  with  their  holy  man, 
they  had  priests  —  everything  was  done  in  a 
Christian  fashion.  They  went  to  the  Czar  to  tell 
him :  c  Father,  our  Emperor,  reduce  the  number 
of  officials  a  little.  We  cannot  live  with  so  many 
officers  and  such  burdensome  taxes  on  our  shoul- 
ders, we  haven't  enough  to  pay  their  salaries,  and 
they  take  such  liberties  with  us  —  the  very  extreme 
of  liberties.  They  squeeze  everything  out  of  us 
they  want.'  Everything  was  honest  and  open. 
They  had  been  preparing  for  this  a  long  time,  a 
whole  month.  The  police  knew  of  it,  yet  no  one 
interfered.     They  went  out  and  marched  along 


THE  SPY  233 

the  streets,  when  suddenly  off  the  soldiers  go  shoot- 
ing at  them !  The  soldiers  surrounded  them  on 
all  sides  and  shot  at  them !  Hacked  them  and 
trampled  them  down  with  their  horses  —  every- 
body, even  the  little  children!  They  kept  up  the 
massacre  for  two  days.  Think  of  it !  What  does 
it  mean?  That  the  people  are  not  wanted  any 
more?  That  they  have  decided  to  exterminate 
them?" 

Anfisa's  cutting,  unpleasant  voice  sank  into  a 
whisper,  above  which  could  now  be  heard  the  sput- 
tering of  the  butter  on  the  stove,  the  angry  gurgle 
of  the  boiling  water  in  the  kettle,  the  dull  roaring 
of  the  fire,  and  Masha's  groans.  Yevsey  felt 
obliged  to  answer  the  sharp  questions  of  the  cook, 
and  he  wanted  to  soothe  Masha.  He  coughed 
carefully,  and  said  without  looking  at  anybody: 

11  They  say  the  Japs  arranged  the  affair." 

"  S-s-s-o  ?  "  the  cook  cried  ironically.  "  The 
Japs,  the  Japs,  of  course!  We  know  the  Japs. 
They  keep  to  themselves,  they  stick  in  their  own 
home.  Our  master  explained  to  us  who  they  are. 
You  just  tell  my  brother  about  the  Japs.  He 
knows  all  about  them,  too.  It  was  scoundrels,  not 
Japs!" 

From  what  Melnikov  had  said  Yevsey  knew 
that  the  cook's  brother  Matvey  Zimin  worked  in  a 
furniture  factory,  and  read  prohibited  books. 
Now,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  was  seized  with  the  desire 
to  tell  her  that  the  police  knew  about  Zimin's  in- 


234  THE  SPY 

fidelity  to  the  Czar.  But  at  that  minute  Masha 
jumped  down  from  the  bed,  and  cried  out  while 
arranging  her  hair: 

"  Of  course,  they  have  no  way  of  justifying 
themselves,  so  they  hit  upon  the  Japs  as  an  ex- 
cuse. 

"  The  blackguards !  "  drawled  the  cook.  "  Yes- 
terday in  the  market  somebody  also  made  a  speech 
about  the  Japs.  Evidently  he  had  been  bribed  to 
justify  the  officials.  One  old  man  was  listening, 
and  then  you  should  have  heard  what  he  said  about 
the  generals,  about  the  ministers,  and  even  about 
the  Czar  himself.  How  he  could  do  it  without 
putting  the  least  check  upon  himself  —  no,  you 
can't  fool  the  people.  They'll  catch  the  truth,  no 
matter  into  what  corner  you  drive  it." 

Klimkov  looked  at  the  floor,  and  was  silent. 
The  desire  to  tell  the  cook  that  watch  was  being 
kept  upon  her  brother  now  left  him.  He  invol- 
untarily thought  that  every  person  killed  had  rela- 
tives, who  were  now  just  as  puzzled  as  Masha  and 
Anfisa,  and  asked  one  another  "  Why?  "  He  re- 
alized that  they  were  crying  and  grieving  in  dark 
perplexity,  with  hatred  secretly  springing  up  in 
their  hearts,  hatred  of  the  murderers  and  of  those 
who  endeavored  to  justify  the  crime.  He  sighed 
and  said: 

"  A  horrible  deed  has  been  done."  At  the  same 
time  he  thought:  "  But  I,  too,  am  compelled  to 
protect  the  officials." 


THE  SPY  235 

Masha  giving  the  door  to  the  kitchen  a  push 
with  her  foot,  Yevsey  remained  alone  with  the 
cook,  who  looked  at  the  door  sidewise,  and  grum- 
bled: 

"  The  woman  is  killing  herself.  Even  her 
milk  is  spoiled.  This  is  the  third  day  she  hasn't 
given  nourishment.  See  here,  Thursday  next  week 
is  her  birthday,  and  I'll  celebrate  my  birthday  then, 
too.  Suppose  you  come  here  as  a  guest,  and  make 
her  a  present,  say,  of  a  good  string  of  beads.  You 
must  comfort  a  person  some  way  or  other." 

"  Very  well.     I'll  come." 

"  All  right." 

Klimkov  walked  off  slowly,  revolving  in  his 
mind  what  the  women  had  said  to  him.  The 
cook's  talk  was  too  noisy,  too  forward,  instantly 
creating  the  impression  that  she  did  not  speak 
her  own  sentiments,  but  echoed  those  of  another. 
As  for  Masha,  her  grief  did  not  touch  him.  He 
had  no  relatives,  moreover  he  rarely  experienced 
pity  for  people.  Nevertheless  he  felt  that  the 
general  revolt  everywhere  noticeable  was  reflected 
in  the  outcries  of  these  women,  and  —  the  main 
thing  —  that  such  talk  was  unusual,  inhumanly 
brave.  Yevsey  had  his  own  explanation  of  the 
event:  fear  pushed  people  one  against  the  other. 
Then  those  who  were  armed  and  had  lost  their 
senses  exterminated  those  who  were  unarmed  and 
foolish.  But  this  explanation  did  not  stand  firm  in 
Yevsey's  mind,  and  failed  to  calm  his  soul.     He 


236  THE  SPY 

clearly  realized  from  what  he  had  seen  and  heard 
that  the  people  were  beginning  to  free  themselves 
from  the  thralldom  of  fear,  and  were  insistently 
and  fearlessly  seeking  the  guilty,  whom  they  found 
and  judged.  Everywhere  large  quantities  of  leaf- 
lets appeared,  in  which  the  revolutionists  described 
the  bloody  days  in  St.  Petersburg,  and  cursed  the 
Czar,  and  urged  the  people  not  to  believe  in  the 
administration.  Yevsey  read  a  few  such  leaflets. 
Though  their  language  was  unintelligible  to  him, 
he  sensed  something  dangerous  in  them,  something 
that  irresistibly  made  its  way  into  his  heart,  and 
filled  him  with  fresh  alarm.  He  resolved  not  to 
read  any  leaflets  again. 

Strict  orders  were  given  to  find  the  printing 
office  in  which  the  leaflets  were  printed,  and  to 
catch  the  persons  who  distributed  them.  Sasha 
swore,  and  even  gave  Viekov  a  slap  in  the  face  for 
something  he  had  done.  Filip  Filippovich  invited 
the  agents  to  come  to  him  in  the  evenings,  in  order 
to  deliver  speeches  to  them.  He  usually  sat  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  behind  his  desk,  resting  the 
lower  half  of  his  arms  upon  it,  and  keeping  his 
long  fingers  engaged  in  quietly  toying  with  the 
pencils,  pens,  and  papers.  The  various  gems  on 
his  hands  sparkled  in  different  colors.  From  under 
his  black  beard  gleamed  a  large  yellow  medal. 
He  moved  his  short  neck  slowly,  and  his  blue 
spectacles  rested  in  turn  upon  the  faces  of  all  pres- 
ent, who  meekly  and  silently  sat  against  the  wall. 


THE  SPY  237 

He  scarcely  ever  rose  from  his  armchair.  Noth- 
ing but  his  fingers  and  his  neck  moved.  His  heavy 
face,  bloated  and  white,  looked  like  a  face  in  a 
portrait;  the  hairs  of  his  beard  seemed  glued  to- 
gether. When  silent,  he  was  calm  and  staid,  but 
the  instant  he  spoke  in  his  thin  voice,  which 
screeched  like  an  iron  saw  while  being  filed,  every- 
thing about  him,  the  black  frockcoat  and  the  order, 
the  gems,  and  the  beard,  seemed  to  be  stuck  upon 
somebody  else.  Sometimes  Yevsey  fancied  that 
an  artificial  puppet  sat  in  front  of  him,  inside  of 
which  was  hidden  a  little  shrivelled-up  fellow,  re- 
sembling a  little  red  devil.  If  someone  were  to 
shout  at  the  puppet,  he  imagined,  the  little  devil 
would  be  frightened,  and  would  jump  out  with  a 
squeak,  and  leap  through  the  window. 

Nevertheless  Yevsey  was  afraid  of  Filip  Filip- 
povich.  In  order  not  to  attract  to  himself  the 
gobbling  look  of  his  blue  glasses,  he  sat  as  far  as 
possible  from  him,  trying  the  entire  time  not  to 
move. 

"  Gentlemen,"  the  thin  voice  trembled  in  the  air. 
It  drove  against  Yevsey's  breast  unpleasantly  and 
coldly,  like  a  gleaming  steel  rod.  "  Gentlemen, 
you  must  listen  to  me  carefully.  You  must  remem- 
ber my  words.  In  these  days  everyone  of  you 
should  put  your  entire  mind,  your  entire  soul,  into 
the  war  with  the  secret  and  cunning  enemy.  You 
should  listen  to  your  orders  and  fulfil  them  strictly, 
though  you  may  act  on  your  own  initiative,  too. 


238  THE  SPY 

In  the  secret  war  for  the  life  of  your  mother  Rus- 
sia, you  must  know,  all  means  are  permissible. 
The  revolutionists  are  not  squeamish  as  to  the 
means  they  employ;  they  do  not  stop  at  murder. 
Remember  how  many  of  your  comrades  have  per- 
ished at  their  hands.  I  do  not  tell  you  to  kill. 
No,  of  course  not.  I  cannot  advise  such  measures. 
To  kill  a  man  requires  no  cleverness.  Every  fool 
can  kill.  Yet  the  law  is  with  you.  You  go 
against  the  lawless.  It  would  be  criminal  to  be 
merciful  toward  them.  They  must  be  rooted  out 
like  noxious  weeds.  I  say,  you  must  for  your- 
selves find  out  what  is  the  best  way  to  stifle  the 
rising  revolution.  It  isn't  I  who  demand  this  of 
you;  it  is  the  Czar  and  the  country."  After  a 
pause  during  which  he  examined  his  rings,  he  went 
on.  "  You,  gentlemen,  have  too  little  energy,  too 
little  love  for  your  honest  calling.  For  instance, 
you  have  let  the  old  revolutionist  Saydakov  slip.  I 
now  know  that  he  lived  in  our  city  for  three  and  a 
half  months.  Secondly,  up  to  this  time  you  have 
failed  to  find  the  printing  office." 

"  Without  provocators  it  is  hard,"  someone  ven- 
tured in  an  offended  tone. 

"  Don't  interrupt,  if  you  please.  I  myself  know 
what  is  hard,  and  what  is  easy.  Up  to  this  time 
you  have  not  been  able  to  gather  serious  evidence 
against  a  whole  lot  of  people  known  for  their  se- 
ditious tendencies,  and  you  cannot  give  me  any 
grounds  for  their  arrest." 


THE  SPY  239 

"  Arrest  them  without  grounds,"  said  Piotr  with 
a  laugh. 

"What  is  the  object  of  your  facetiousness?  I 
am  speaking  seriously.  If  you  were  to  arrest  them 
without  grounds,  we  should  simply  have  to  let 
them  go  again.  That's  all.  And  to  you  person- 
ally, Piotr  Petrovich,  I  want  to  remark  that  you 
promised  something  a  long  time  ago.  Do  you  re- 
member? You  likewise,  Krasavin.  You  said  you 
had  succeeded  in  becoming  acquainted  with  a  man 
who  might  lead  you  to  the  Terrorists.  Well,  and 
what  has  come  of  it?  " 

"  He  turned  out  to  be  a  cheat.  You  just  wait. 
I'll  do  my  business,"  Krasavin  answered  calmly. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it  whatsoever,  but  I  beg 
all  of  you  to  understand  that  we  must  work  more 
energetically,  we  must  hurry  matters  up." 

Filip  Filippovich  discoursed  a  long  time, 
sometimes  a  whole  hour,  without  taking  breath, 
calmly,  in  the  same  level  tone.  The  only  words 
that  varied  the  monotonous  flow  were  "  You 
must."  The  "  you  "  came  out  resonantly  like  a 
long-drawn  hammer-blow,  the  "  must,"  in  a 
drawled  hiss.  He  embraced  everybody  in  his 
glassy  blue  look.  His  words  fairly  choked 
Yevsey. 

Once  at  the  end  of  a  meeting,  when  Sasha  and 
Yevsey  were  the  only  ones  who  remained  with 
Filip  Filippovich,  Yevsey  heard  the  following  col- 
loquy : 


24o  THE  SPY 

Filip    Filippovich    (glumly,    dejectedly):     What 

idiots  they  are,  though! 
Sasha  (snuffling):     Aha! 

Filip  Filippovich :     Yes,  yes,  what  can  they  do  ? 
Sasha :     It  seems  that  now  you  are  going  to  learn 

the  value  of  decent  people. 
Filip  Filippovich :     Well,  give  them  to  me.     Give 

them  to  me. 
Sasha:     Ah,  they  cost  dear! 

Klimkov  was  neither  surprised  nor  offended. 
This  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  heard  the  au- 
thorities swear  at  their  subordinates.  He  counted 
it  in  the  regular  order  of  life. 

The  spies  after  the  meetings  spoke  to  one 
another  thus : 

"  Um,  yes,  a  converted  Jew,  and  just  look  at 
him!" 

"  They  say  he  got  a  raise  of  600  rubles  the  first 
of  the  year." 

"  The  value  of  our  labor  is  growing." 

Sometimes  a  handsome,  richly  dressed  gentle- 
man by  the  name  of  Leontyev  addressed  the  spies 
in  place  of  Filip  Filippovich.  He  did  not  remain 
seated,  but  walked  up  and  down  the  room  holding 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  politely  stepping  out  of 
everybody's  way.  His  smooth  face,  always  drawn 
in  a  frown,  was  cold  and  repellant,  his  thin  lips 
moved  reluctantly,  and  his  eyes  were  veiled. 

Another  man  named  Yasnogursky  came  from  St. 
Petersburg  for  the  same  purpose.     He  was  a  low, 


THE  SPY  241 

broad-shouldered,  bald  man  with  an  order  on  his 
breast.  He  had  a  large  mouth,  a  wizened  face, 
heavy  eyes,  like  two  little  stones,  and  long  hands. 
He  spoke  in  a  loud  voice,  smacking  his  lips,  and 
pouring  out  streams  of  strong  oaths.  One  sen- 
tence of  his  particularly  impressed  itself  on  Yev- 
sey's  memory: 

11  They  say  to  the  people,  *  You  can  arrange 
another,  an  easy  life  for  yourselves.'  They  lie, 
my  children.  The  Emperor  our  Czar  and  our 
Holy  Church  arrange  life,  while  the  people  can 
change  nothing,  nothing." 

All  the  speakers  said  the  same  thing:  the  po- 
litical agents  must  serve  more  zealously,  must 
work  more,  must  be  cleverer,  because  the  revolu- 
tionists were  growing  more  and  more  powerful. 
Sometimes  they  told  about  the  Czars,  how  good 
and  wise  they  were,  how  the  foreigners  feared  them 
and  envied  them  because  they  had  liberated  various 
nations  from  the  foreign  yoke.  They  had  freed 
the  Bulgarians  and  the  Servians  from  the  oppres- 
sion of  the  Turkish  Sultan,  the  Khivans,  the  Bok- 
harans,  and  the  Turkomans  from  the  Persian 
Shah,  and  the  Manchurians  from  the  Chinese  Em- 
peror. As  a  result,  the  Germans  and  the  Eng- 
lish along  with  the  Japanese,  who  were  bribed 
by  them,  were  dissatisfied.  They  would  like  to 
get  the  nations  Russia  had  liberated  into  their  own 
power.  But  they  knew  the  Czar  would  not  per- 
mit this,  and  that  was  why  they  hated  him,  why 


242  THE  SPY 

they  wished  him  all  evil,  and  endeavored  to  bring 
about  the  revolution  in  Russia. 

Yevsey  listened  to  these  speeches  with  interest, 
waiting  for  the  moment  when  the  speakers  would 
begin  to  tell  about  the  Russian  people,  and  explain 
why  all  of  them  were  unpleasant  and  cruel,  why 
they  loved  to  torture  one  another,  and  lived  such  a 
restless,  uncomfortable  life.  He  wanted  to  hear 
what  the  cause  was  of  such  poverty,  of  the  univer- 
sal fear,  and  the  angry  groans  heard  on  all  sides. 
But  of  such  things  no  one  spoke. 

After  one  of  the  meetings  Viekov  said  to  Yev- 
sey as  the  two  were  walking  in  the  street : 

"  So  it  means  that  they  are  getting  into  power. 
Did  you  hear?  It's  impossible  to  understand  what 
it  signifies.  Just  see  —  here  you  have  secret  people 
who  live  hidden,  and  suddenly  they  cause  general 
alarm,  and  shake  everything  up.  It's  very  hard  to 
comprehend.  From  where,  I'd  like  to  know,  do 
they  get  their  power?  " 

Melnikov,  now  even  more  morose  and  taciturn, 
grown  thin  and  all  dishevelled,  once  hit  his  fist  on 
his  knee,  and  shouted : 

11 1  want  to  know  where  the  truth  is !  " 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Maklakov  an- 
grily. 

"What's  the  matter?  This  is  the  matter: 
I  understand  it  this  way :  One  class  of  officials  has 
grown  weak,  our  class.  Now  another  class  gets 
the  power  over  the  people,  that's  all." 


THE  SPY  243 

"  And  the  result  is  —  fiddlesticks !  "  said  Mak- 
lakov,  laughing. 

Melnikov  looked  at  him,  and  sighed : 

"  Don't  lie,  Timofey  Vasilyevich.  You  lie  out 
and  out.  You  are  a  wise  man,  and  you  lie.  I  un- 
derstand." 

Thoughts  instinctively  arose  in  the  dark  depths 
of  Yevsey's  soul.  He  did  not  realize  how  they 
formed  themselves,  did  not  feel  their  secret  growth. 
They  appeared  suddenly,  in  perfect  array,  and 
frightened  him  by  their  unexpected  apparition. 
He  endeavored  to  hide  them,  to  extinguish  them 
for  a  time,  but  unsuccessfully.  They  quietly 
flashed  up  again,  and  shone  more  clearly,  though 
their  light  only  cast  life  into  still  greater  obscurity, 
The  frequent  conversations  about  the  revolution- 
ists blocked  themselves  up  in  his  head,  creating  an 
insensible  sediment  in  his  mind,  a  thin  strata  of 
fresh  soil  for  the  growth  of  puny  thoughts.  These 
thoughts  disquieted  him,  and  drew  him  gently  to 
something  unknown. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

TX/'HILE  on  his  way  to  Masha  to  take  part  in 
her  birthday  celebration,  the  thought  occur- 
red to  Yevsey : 

"  I  am  going  to  get  acquainted  with  the  joiner 
to-day.     He's  a  revolutionist." 

Yevsey  was  the  first  guest  to  arrive.  He  gave 
Masha  a  string  of  blue  beads,  and  Anfisa  a  shell 
comb.  In  return  for  the  gifts,  with  which  both 
were  greatly  pleased,  they  treated  him  to  tea  and 
nalivka  (a  sort  of  wine  made  of  berries  with  whis- 
key or  water).  Masha  prettily  arching  her  full 
white  neck  looked  into  his  face  with  a  kind  smile. 
Her  glance  softly  caressed  his  heart,  enlivened 
and  emboldened  him.  Anfisa  poured  the  tea  and 
said  winking  her  eyes : 

II  Well,  merchant,  you  are  our  generous  donor. 
When  will  we  celebrate  your  wedding?  " 

Yevsey  trying  not  to  show  his  embarrassment, 
said  quietly  and  confidingly : 

II I  cannot  decide  to  get  married.  It's  very 
hard." 

"Hard?     Oh,  you  modest  man!     Marya,  do 
you  hear?     He  says  it's  hard  to  get  married." 
Masha   smiled   in   answer  to   the   cook's   loud 


THE  SPY  245 

laugh,  looking  at  Klimkov  from  the  corner  of  her 
eyes. 

"  Maybe  he  has  his  own  meaning  of  hard." 

"  Yes,  I  have  my  own  meaning,"  said  Yevsey, 
raising  his  head.  "  You  see  I  am  thinking  of  the 
fact  that  it  is  hard  to  find  a  person  with  whom  you 
can  live  soul  to  soul,  so  that  the  qne.  would  not 
fear  the  other.  It  is  hard  to  find  a  person  whom 
you  could  believe." 

Masha  sat  beside  him.  He  glanced  sidewise  at 
her  neck  and  breast,  and  sighed. 

"  Suppose  I  were  to  tell  them  where  I  work." 

He  started,  frightened  by  the  desire,  and  with  a 
quick  effort  he  suppressed  it. 

"  If  a  man  does  not  understand  life,"  he  con- 
tinued, raising  his  voice,  "  it's  better  for  him  to  re- 
main alone." 

"  For  one  person  to  live  all  alone  is  hard,  too," 
said  Masha,  pouring  out  another  glass  of  nalivka 
for  him.     "  Drink." 

Yevsey  longed  to  speak  much  and  openly.  He 
observed  that  the  women  listened  to  him  willingly; 
and  this  in  conjunction  with  the  two  glasses  of  wine 
aroused  him.  But  the  journalist's  servant  girl 
Liza,  who  came  in  at  that  moment  also  excited, 
at  once  usurped  the  attention  of  Anfisa  and  Masha. 
She  was  bony  and  had  a  cast  in  one  eye.  Her  hair 
was  handsomely  dressed,  and  she'  was  cleverly 
gowned.  With  her  sprightly  manner  she  seemed  a 
good  forward  little  girl. 


246  THE  SPY 


"  My  good  people  invited  guests  for  to-day,  and 
did  not  want  to  let  me  go,"  she  said  sitting  down. 
4  Well,'  said  I,  '  you  can  do  as  you  please/  And 
I  went  off.     Let  them  bother  themselves." 

"Many  guests?"  Klimkov  asked  wearily,  re- 
membering his  duty. 

"  A  good  many.  But  what  sort  of  guests  I 
Not  one  of  them  ever  sticks  a  dime  into  your  hand. 
On  New  Year's  all  I  got  was  two  rubles  and  thirty 
kopeks." 

"  So  they're  not  rich?  "  asked  Yevsey. 

"  Oh,  rich !  No !  Not  one  of  them  has  a  whole 
overshoe." 

"  Who  are  they  ?     What's  their  business  ?  " 

"  Different  things.  Some  write  for  the  news- 
papers, another  is  simply  a  student.  Oh,  what  a 
good  fellow  one  of  them  is !  He  has  black  eye- 
brows, and  curly  hair,  and  a  cute  little  mustache, 
white,  even  teeth  —  a  lively,  jolly  fellow.  He 
came  from  Siberia  not  long  ago.  He  keeps  talk- 
ing about  hunting." 

Yevsey  looked  at  Liza,  and  bent  his  head.  He 
wantej  ^  **y  "  Sfnp  I  "  tn  ^pr  Instead  he  apa- 
thetically asked,  "  I  suppose  he  must  have  been  ex- 
iled." 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  Maybe.  My  master  and  mis- 
tress were  exiles,  too.     The  sergeant  told  me  so." 

"  Yes,  who  nowadays  hasn't  been  an  exile?  "  ex- 
claimed the  cook.  "  I  lived  at  Popov's,  an  engi- 
neer, a  rich  man.     He  had  his  own  house  and 


THE  SPY 


247 


horses  and  was  getting  ready  to  marry.  Sud- 
denly the  gendarmes  came  at  night,  seized  him, 
and  broke  up  everything,  and  then  he  was  sent  off 
to  Siberia." 

"  I  don't  condemn  my  people,"  Liza  interrupted, 
"  not  a  bit  of  it.  They  are  good  folks.  They 
don't  scold.  They're  not  grasping.  Altogether 
they're  not  like  other  people.  And  they're  very 
interesting.  They  know  everything  and  speak 
about  everything." 

Yevsey  looked  at  Masha's  ruddy  face,  and 
thought : 

"I'd  better  go;  I'll  ask  her  about  her  master 
next  time.  But  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  to  go. 
If  only  she  kept  quiet,  the  silly !  " 

"  Our  people  understand  everything,  too," 
Masha  announced  with  pride. 

"  When  that  affair  happened,  that  revolt  in  St. 
Petersburg,"  Liza  began  with  animation,  "  they 
stayed  up  nights  at  a  time  talking." 

"  Why  our  people  were  in  your  house  then,"  ob- 
served the  nurse. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  the  re  were  lots  of  people  at  the 
house.  They  talked,  and  wrote  complaints.  One 
of  them  even  began  to  cry.     Upon  my  word!  " 

"  There's  enough  to  cry  about,"  sighed  the  cook. 

"  He  clutched  his  head,  and  sobbed.  '  Un- 
happy Russia !  '  he  said,  i  Unhappy  people  that  we 
are !  '  They  gave  him  water,  and  even  I  got  sorry 
for  everybody,  and  began  to  cry." 


248  THE  SPY 

Masha  looked  around  frightened. 

"  God,  when  I  think  of  my  sister !  "  She  rose 
and  went  into  the  cook's  room.  The  women 
looked  after  her  sympathetically.  Klimkov  sighed 
with  relief.  Against  his  will  he  asked  Liza  wear- 
ily and  with  an  effort: 

"To  whom  did  they  write  complaints?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Liza. 

u  Marya  went  off  to  cry,"  remarked  the  cook. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  cook's  brother  entered 
coughing. 

"  It's  chilly,"  he  said,  untwisting  the  scarf  from 
his  neck. 

"  Here,  take  a  drink,  quick  1  " 

11  Yes,  indeed.     And  here's  health  to  you." 

He  was  a  thin  person,  who  moved  about  freely 
and  deliberately.  The  gravity  of  his  voice  did 
not  accord  very  well  with  his  small  light  beard  and 
his  sharp,  somewhat  bald  skull.  His  face  was 
small,  thin,  insignificant,  his  eyes,  large  and  hazel. 

"  A  revolutionist,"  was  Yevsey's  mental  obser- 
vation, as  he  silently  pressed  the  joiner's  hand. 
"  Time  for  me  to  be  going,"  he  announced  unex- 
pectedly to  everybody. 

"  Where  to?"  cried  Anfisa,  unceremoniously 
seizing  his  hand.  "  Say,  you  merchant,  don't 
break  up  our  company.  Look,  Matvey,  what  a 
present  he  gave  me." 

Zimin  looked  at  Yevsey,  and  said  thoughtfully : 

"  Yesterday  they  got  another  order  in  our  fac- 


THE  SPY  249 

tory  for  fifteen  thousand  rubles.  A  drawing-room, 
a  cabinet,  a  bed-room,  and  a  salon  —  four  rooms. 
All  the  orders  come  from  the  military.  They  stole 
a  whole  lot  of  money,  and  now  they  want  to  live 
after  the  latest  fashion." 

"  There  you  are !  "  Yevsey  exclaimed  mentally, 
vexed  and  heated.  "  Begins  the  minute  he  comes 
in!      Oh,  Lord!" 

He  felt  a  painful  ache  in  his  chest,  as  if  some- 
thing inside  him  had  been  torn.  Without  thinking 
of  what  his  question  would  lead  to,  he  quickly 
asked  the  joiner: 

"Are  there  any  revolutionists  in  the  factory?" 

As  if  touched  to  the  quick,  Zimin  quickly  turned 
to  him,  and  looked  into  his  eyes.  The  cook 
frowned,  and  said  in  a  voice  dissatisfied  but  not 
loud : 

"  They  say  revolutionists  are  everywhere  nowa- 
days." 

"  From  smartness  or  stupidity?  "  asked  Liza. 

Unable  to  withstand  the  hard  searching  look  of 
the  joiner,  Klimkov  slowly  bowed  his  head,  though 
he  followed  the  workir  gman  with  a  sidelong  glance. 

"  Why  does  that  interest  you?  "  Zimin  inquired 
politely  but  sternly. 

"  I  have  no  interest  in  it,"  Yevsey  answered  laz- 
ily. 

"  Ah !     Then  why  do  you  ask?  " 

"Just  so,"  said  Yevsey;  and  in  a  few  seconds 
added,  "  Out  of  politeness." 


250  THE  SPY 

The  joiner  smiled. 

It  seemed  to  Yevsey  that  three  pairs  of  eyes  were 
looking  at  him  suspiciously  and  severely.  He  felt 
awkward,  and  something  bitter  nipped  his  throat. 
Masha  came  out  of  the  cook's  room,  smiling  guilt- 
ily. When  she  looked  at  the  others'  faces,  the 
smile  disappeared. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  It's  the  wine,"  flashed  through  Yevsey's  mind. 
He  rose  to  his  feet,  shook  himself,  and  said. 
"  Don't  think  I  asked  for  no  reason  at  all.  I 
asked  because  I  wanted  to  tell  her  long  ago  — 
your  sister  —  about  you." 

Zimin  also  rose.  His  face  gathered  in  wrink- 
les, and  turned  yellow. 

"  What  can  you  tell  her  about  me?  "  he  asked 
with  calm  dignity. 

Masha's  quiet  whisper  reached  Yevsey's  ear. 
"  What's  up  between  them?  " 

11  Wait,"  said  Anfisa. 

"  I  know,"  said  Yevsey.  He  had  the  sensation 
that  he  was  being  swung  from  the  floor  into  the 
air  light  as  a  feather.  He  seemed  to  see  every- 
thing, observe  everything  with  marvellous  plain- 
ness. "  I  know  you're  being  followed  —  fol- 
lowed by  the  agents  of  the  Department  of  Safety, 
I  know  you're  a  revolutionist." 

The  cook  shook  in  her  chair,  crying  out  in  as- 
tonishment and  fright: 

11  Matvey,  what  does  this  mean?  " 


THE  SPY  251 

11  Excuse  me,"  said  Zimin,  passing  his  hand  re- 
assuringly before  her  face.  "  This  is  a  serious 
matter."  Then  he  said  to  Yevsey  in  a  decided 
stern  tone,  "  Young  man,  put  your  overcoat  on. 
You  must  go  home.  And  I,  too,  must  go.  Put 
your  overcoat  on." 

Yevsey  smiled.  He  still  felt  empty  and  light. 
It  was  a  pleasant  sensation,  but  his  eyes  were  dim, 
and  the  caustic  tickling  taste  in  his  mouth  came 
back  again.  He  scarcely  realized  how  he  walked 
away,  but  he  did  not  forget  that  all  were  silent,  and 
no  one  said  good-by  to  him. 

In  the  street  Zimin  nudged  his  shoulder,  and 
said  not  aloud  but  emphatically: 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  come  to  my  sister  any  more." 

14  Why  ?     Did  I  offend  you  ?  "  asked  Yevsey. 

44  No,  not  in  the  least." 

"Why,  then?" 

"Who  are  you?" 

44  A  peddler." 

44  Then  how  do  you  know  what  I  am,  and  that  I 
am  being  followed?  " 

44  An  acquaintance  told  me." 

"A  spy?" 

14  Yes." 

44  So?     And  you  are  a  spy,  too?" 

"  No/*  said  Yevsey.  But  looking  into  Zimin's 
lean,  pale  face,  he  remembered  the  calm  and  dull 
sound  of  his  voice,  and  without  an  effort  corxertf.d 
himself.     "  Yes,  I,  too." 


252  THE  SPY 

They  walked  a  few  steps  in  silence. 

"  Well,  go,"  said  Zimin,  suddenly  halting.  His 
voice  sounded  subdued  and  sorrowful.  He  shook 
his  head  strangely.     "  Go  away." 

Yevsey  leaned  his  back  against  the  enclosure, 
and  gazed  at  the  man,  blinking  his  eyes.  Zimin, 
too,  looked  at  Yevsey,  shaking  his  right  hand. 

"  Why?  "  said  Yevsey,  in  perplexity.  "  Didn't 
I  tell  you  the  truth?  That  you  are  being 
tracked?" 

"Well?" 

11  And  you  are  angry?  " 

Zimin  bent  toward  him,  and  poured  a  wave  of 
hissing  words  upon  Klimkov. 

u  Yes,  go  to  the  devil!  I  know  without  you 
that  they  are  tracking  me.  What's  the  matter? 
Is  business  going  badly  among  you?  Did  you 
think  you'd  buy  me?  And  betray  people  behind 
my  back  ?  Or  did  you  want  to  throw  a  sop  to  your 
conscience?  Go  to  hell!  I  say,  go,  or  else  I'll 
give  you  a  black  eye." 

Yevsey  started  from  his  leaning  posture,  and 
walked  off. 

"  Vermin !  "  he  heard  breathed  behind  him  con- 
temptuously 

KlimKoy  stopped,  turned  arouno^and  for  the 
first  time  swore  at  anybody  with  the  whole-Rower 
of  his  voice: 

"  Vermin  yourself!     You cur!  " 

Zimin  did  not  rejoin.     His  steps  were  inaudible. 


THE  SPY  253 

Somewhere  Yevsey  heard  the  snow  crunching  un- 
der the  runners  of  a  cab  and  the  grinding  of  iron  on 
stone. 

11  He  went  back  there,"  thought  Klimkov,  walk- 
ing slowly  along  the  pavement.  "  He  will  tell. 
Masha  will  curse  me."  He  spat  out,  then  hum- 
med: 

"  Oh,  garden,  garden  mine !  "  He  stopped  at 
a  lamp-post,  feeling  he  had  to  calm  himself. 

44  Here  I  am,  and  I  can  sing  if  I  want  to.  If 
a  policeman  hears  it  and  asks,  *  What  are  you  bawl- 
ing there  ? '  I'll  show  him  my  ticket  from  the 
Department  of  Safety.  *  Oh,  excuse  me!'  he'll 
say.  But  if  the  joiner  should  sing,  he'll  be  hustled 
off  to  the  station-house,  and  they'll  give  him  a  cudg- 
elling. 4  Don't  disturb  the  peace !  '  "  Klimkov 
smiled,  and  peered  into  the  darkness.  "  Well, 
brother,  won't  you  strike  up  a  song?  " 

However  this  failed  to  calm  him  as  he  had  ex- 
pected. His  heart  was  sad,  and  a  bitter  soapy 
saliva  seemed  to  be  glued  in  his  mouth,  making 
tears  well  up  in  his  eyes. 

14  O  Ga-a-a-arden,  ga-a-a-arden  mine! 

Green  is  this  garden  of  mine." 

He  sang  with  the  full  power  of  his  lungs,  shut- 
ting his  eyes  tight.  This  did  not  help  either. 
The  dry,  prickly  tears  trickled  through  his  lids, 
and  chilled  his  cheeks. 

14  Ky-a-b !  "  Klimkov  called  in  a  low  voice,  still 
trying  to  put  on  a  bold  front.     But  when  he  had 


254  THE  SPY 


seated  himself  in  the  sleigh,  his  body  grew  faint, 
as  if  a  great  many  tightly  drawn  fibres  had  sud- 
denly burst  within  him.  His  head  drooped,  and 
swaying  from  side  to  side  in  his  seat  he  mumbled: 

"  A  fine  insult  —  very  strong  —  thank  you ! 
Oh,  you  good  people,  wise  people  — " 

This  complaining  was  pleasant.  It  filled  his 
heart  with  drunken  sweetness.  Yevsey  had  often 
felt  this  sweetness  in  his  childhood.  It  set  him  in 
a  martyr-like  attitude  toward  people,  and  made 
him  more  significant  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TN  the  morning  Yevsey  lay  in  bed  frowning  up 
at  the  ceiling. 

11  Put  my  foot  into  it !  "  he  thought  dismally, 
as  the  recollection  of  what  had  happened  the  day 
before  came  back  to  him.  "  No,  I  oughtn't  to 
track  people,  but  track  myself."  The  idea  seemed 
strange  to  him.  "  How's  that,. ..though? — Am  I 
rascally  toward  myself?  " 

He  remembered  the  melancholy  hazel  eyes  of 
the  joiner,  the  expression  of  dignity  on  his  thin 
face,  and  his  assured  voice  as  he  said,  "  It's  chilly." 
Suddenly  Yevsey  was  perplexed  to  feel  within 
himself  something  alien,  something  ready  to  strug- 
gle with  him.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  took  in  as  much 
air  as  he  could,  and  for  a  long  time  stood  without 
emitting  breath,  as  if  to  stifle  inside  himself  that 
which  was  alien  and  which  hindered  him. 

"  I  must  stop  all  this.  What  do  I  want  it  for?  " 
he  urged  himself.  Nevertheless  ease  did  not  re- 
turn. He  began  to  dress  lazijy,  compelling  him- 
self to  think  about  the  task  of  the  day. 

JNow  he  seldom  went  about  with  goods,  because 
there  was  much  other  work  to  be  done.  This  day, 
for  instance,  he  was  to  go  to  a  factory  suburb  to 


256  THE  SPY 

observe  the  workingmen,  with  the  object  of  dis- 
covering the  persons  who  distributed  proclama- 
tions. 

He  smeared  his  hands  with  soot  and  oil,  then 
washed  them  with  soap,  after  which  an  oily  film 
was  left,  such  as  on  the  hands  of  metal  workers. 
This  was  not  essential.  But  Klimkov  liked  to  dye 
his  tufty  hair,  and  color  his  brows  and  mustache. 
Such  proceedings  made  his  work  more  interesting, 
and  heightened  its  gravity. 

The  handsome  Grokhotov  had  been  very  assidu- 
ous in  teaching  Yevsey  the  art  of  disguising  his 
face  and  figure.  Grokhotov  was  sincerely  at- 
tracted by  the  work.  He  possessed  a  large  sup- 
ply of  beards,  mustaches,  and  wigs  of  all  colors, 
and  could  paste  scars  and  warts  on  the  face. 
Sometimes  he  would  display  his  mimic  arts  to  his 
comrades.  Suddenly,  right  in  everybody's  pres- 
ence, he  would  give  his  face,  voice,  and  figure  a 
striking  resemblance  to  one  of  the  officials.  Or 
he  would  cackle  like  a  goose,  roar  like  a  lion,  bark 
like  a  dog,  or  meow  like  a  cat.  His  astonished 
audience  praised  him  generously,  and  held  their 
sides  with  laughter,  while  he,  smiling  sedately,  de- 
clared modestly: 

"  Just  the  A  B  Cs.  Wait  until  I've  been  at 
it  a  year.  Then  I'll  go  on  the  stage.  I'll  hit  off 
all  the  celebrities,  and  I'll  imitate  every  animal  on 
earth." 


THE  SPY 


257 


Melnikov  would  look  at  him  with  contempt,  and 
spit  out.     Once  he  even  shouted : 

"  Hey,  you  clown,  show  us  a  louse." 

11  The  louse  is  a  mute  insect,"  remarked  the  spy. 

"  Well,  then,  profit  by  its  example.  Eat  and 
keep  quiet." 

While  dressing  Klimkov  remembered  this  inter- 
change of  words,  which  in  turn  recalled  Anatol. 

"There,"  he  thought,  "Anatol  would  have 
made  a  good  spy.  But  Zimin  wouldn't  do  at  all. 
His  eyes  are  in  the  way.  You  can  recognize  him 
by  the  eyes  at  once.  He  certainly  wants  to  take 
Masha  as  his  mistress." 

Yevsey  stopped  at  the  door,  his  heart  unpleas- 
antly gripped  by  this  conjecture.  But  the  next  in- 
stant  he  waved  his  hand  carelessly.  __ 

"  To  the  devil  with  all  of  them!  What  do  I 
care?" 

Thi_s  thought,  which  had  calmed  him  before, 
no^w  irritated  a  sore  spot  in  his  feelings. 

TEe  sun  was  shining,  water  flowed  from  the 
roofs  babbling  and  washing  away  the  dirty  red- 
dish snow.  The  people  walked  quickly  and  mer- 
rily. The  good  chimes  of  the  Lenten  bells  floated 
lengthily  in  the  warm  moist  atmosphere,  mingling 
in  a  broad  ribbon  of  soft  sounds,  which  waved  in 
the  air,  and  floated  from  the  city  into  the  pale 
bluish  distance. 

"  Now  to  go  off  somewhere,  to  walk  in  the  fields, 


258  THE  SPY 

in  the  deserts,"  thought  Yevsey,  as  he  entered  the 
narrow  streets  of  the  factory  suburb. 

Round  about  him  rose  the  red  filthy  walls,  sup- 
porting themselves  one  against  the  other.  The 
sky  over  them  was  besmirched  with  smoke,  the  air 
was  steeped  in  the  stifling  odor  of  warm  oil.  White 
teeth  gleamed  angrily  in  the  dirty  faces  of  the 
workingmen.  All  the  surroundings  were  unlovely, 
and  the  eyes  quickly  wearied  in  looking  upon  the 
smoked  stone  cages  in  which  the  men  worked. 

At  noon  Klimkov,  exhausted  and  feeling  insulted 
by  everything  he  saw,  entered  a  tavern,  where  he 
ordered  dinner  to  be  brought  to  him  at  a  small 
table  next  to  a  window.  He  reluctantly  listened 
to  the  people's  conversation.  There  were  not 
many,  but  all  were  workingmen,  who  lazily  cast 
short  words  at  one  another  as  they  ate  and  drank. 
The  only  lively  sound  was  of  a  young  incessant 
voice  which  reached  him  from  a  corner. 

11  No,  think,  where  does  wealth  come  from?  " 

The  person  who  spoke  was  a  broad-shouldered, 
curly-haired  fellow.  Yevsey  looked  at  him  in  vex- 
ation, and  turned  away.  He  frequently  heard 
talks  about  wealth,  which  always  inspired  him  with 
a  sense  of  bored  perplexity.  He  felt  they  were 
dictated  only  by  envy  and  greed.  He  knew  that 
just  such  talks  were  accounted  noxious,  and  he 
forcibly  compelled  himself  to  listen  to  them,  though 
to-day  he  wanted  to  traverse  the  broad  light  streets 
of  the  city. 


THE  SPY  259 

"  You  work  cheaply,  and  you  buy  dearly.  Isn't 
it  so?"  cried  the  curly-headed  fellow.  "All 
wealth  is  accumulated  from  the  money  by  which 
we  are  underpaid  for  our  work.  Let's  take  an  ex- 
ample." 

14  Everybody's  greedy,"  thought  Yevsey. 
14  How  Masha  snatched  The  beads  yesterday!  All 
are  scoundrels^  And  the  reason  Zimin  did  notT 
strike  me  was  because  he  was  afraid  I  would  call 
the  police.  Ha !  They  drove  me  out,  but  they 
kept  my  presents.  If  they  thought  me  a  dirty  fel- 
low, they  should  have  returned  my  presents,  the 
skunks !  " 

Filling  himself  with  the  pleasant  bitterness  that 
comes  from  censuring  people,  he  was  carried  away 
by  it,  and  no  longer  heard  or  saw  anything.  Sud- 
denly, however,  a  merry  voice  fell  upon  his  ear. 

"What,  Yevsey  Klimkov?" 

He  raised  his  head  hastily,  £nd  wanted  to  rise, 
but  was  unable  to  do  so.  He  saw  standing  before 
him  the  curly-headed  orator,  whom,  however,  he 
did  not  recognize. 

"You  don't  know  me?     Yakov,  your  cousin." 

He  laughed,  held  out  his  hand  to  Yevsey,  and 
seated  himself  opposite  him  at  the  table.  His 
laughter  enveloped  Klimkov  in  a  warm  cloud  of 
reminiscences- — of  the  church,  the  quiet  ravine, 
the  fire,  and  the  talks  of  the  blacksmith.  Silent, 
smiling  in  embarrassment,  he  carefully  pressed  his 
cousin's  hand. 


26o  THE  SPY 

"  I  didn't  recognize  you." 

"  Of  course !  "  exclaimed  Yakov.  "  Your  mem- 
ory gets  weak  in  the  city.  Various  things  creep 
upon  you  from  all  sides,  so  no  place  is  left  for  the 
old.     How  are  you  getting  along  ?  " 

14  So,  so." 

"Out  of  work?" 

"  Yes." 

Klimkov  answered  unwillingly.  He  wanted  to 
know  whereby  this  meeting  might  be  dangerous 
for  him.  But  Yakov  spoke  for  both.  He  rapidly 
gave  an  account  of  the  village,  as  if  it  were  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  him  to  get  through  with  it  as 
quickly  as  possible.  In  two  minutes  he  had  told 
Yevsey  that  his  father  had  gotten  blind,  that  his 
mother  was  always  sick,  and  that  he  had  been  living 
in  the  city  three  years  working  in  the  factory. 

"  There  youVe  got  the  whole  story." 

Yakov  was  even  more  thickly  besmudged  with 
soot  and  oil  than  most  of  the  men.  Though  his 
clothes  were  torn  he  seemed  to  be  rich.  He  was 
outspoken  and  free  in  his  demeanor.  Klimkov 
looked  at  him  with  pleasure,  and  recalled  without 
malice  how  this  strong  fellow  had  beaten  him. 

"  Is  he  a  revolutionist,  too  ?  "  he  asked  himself 
timidly. 

"Well,  how  are  you  getting  along?"  said  Ya- 
kov. His  broad  round  face,  glossy  and  smiling 
good-naturedly,  called  for  frankness  in  return, 
which  Klimkov,  however,  did  not  want  to  give. 


THE  SPY  261 

He  felt  the  new  and  alien  thing  that  he  had  found 
in  his  soul  in  the  morning  growing  in  him.  In 
the  desire  to  evade  levsey's  questions,  tie  himself 
began  to  interrogate. 

"  And  how  are  you?  " 

11  Work  is  hard,  and  life  is  easy.  I  like  the  city 
very  much.  It's  a  smart  thing,  the  city  is.  And 
how  simple,  how  intelligible  things  are  here.  It's 
true  that  work  for  us  fellows  is,  you  may  say, 
humiliating.  There's  so  much  work,  and  so  little 
time  to  live.  Your  whole  day,  your  whole  life 
goes  to  your  employer.  You  can  keep  only  min- 
utes for  yourself.  There's  no  time  to  read  a  book. 
I'd  like  to  go  to  theatre,  but  when  will  I  sleep? 
Do  you  read  books?  " 

"I?     No." 

"Well,  yes,  you  have  no  time.  Isn't  it  so? 
Though  I  manage  to  read  after  all.  Such  books 
as  you  get  here !  You  start  one,  and  you  just  sink 
away,  as  if  a  dear  girl  and  you  were  embracing. 
Honest!  How  do  you  get  along  with  girls? 
Lucky?" 

"  So,  so,"  said  Yevsey. 

"  They  love  me !  The  girls  here,  too  —  ah, 
God,  what  a  life !     Do  you  go  to  the  theatre?  " 

14  I've  been." 

"  I  love  theatre.  I  snatch  up  everything,  as  if 
I  were  going  to  leave  to-morrow,  or  die.  Really ! 
I  like  to  hear  music,  everything  —  the  zoological 
garden  —  that's  a  nice  place,  too." 


262  THE  SPY 

The  red  of  excitement  broke  through  the  black 
layer  of  dirt  of  Yakov's  cheeks.  His  eyes  burned 
eagerly.  He  smacked  his  lips,  as  if  he  were  suck- 
ing in  something  refreshing  and  vivifying. 

Quiet  envy  stirred  in  Yevsey,  envy  of  this 
healthy  body  with  its  keen  appetites.  He  stub- 
bornly recalled  how  Yakov  had  pummeled  his  sides 
with  his  powerful  fists;  and  something  sad  softly 
hindered  him  from  doing  violence  to  himself. 
Quick,  joyous  speech  came  from  Yakov  without 
cease ;  the  ringing  exulting  words  and  exclamations 
fluttered  around  Yevsey  like  swallows.  He  drank 
in  the  live  spring-talk,  involuntarily  smiling.  He 
seemed  to  himself  to  be  splitting  in  two,  torn  by  the 
desire  to  listen,  and  the  awkward,  almost  shame- 
ful feeling  that  possessed  him.  Though  he  wished 
to  speak  in  his  turn,  he  feared  he  might  betray  him- 
self. His  shirt  collar  pressed  his  neck.  He  turned 
his  head  around,  and  suddenly  saw  Grokhotov  on 
the  street  at  the  window.  Over  the  spy's  left 
shoulder  and  arm  hung  torn  breeches,  dirty  shirts, 
and  jackets.  He  gave  Yevsey  a  scarcely  percepti- 
ble wink  as  he  shouted  in  a  sour  voice : 

"  I  sell  and  buy  old  clothes.', 

"  It's  time  for  me  to  be  going,"  said  Yevsey, 
jumping  to  his  feet. 

"  You  are  free  on  Sundays,  aren't  you?  Oh, 
yes,  you're  out  of  work.  Well,  then,  let's  go  to 
the  zoological  gardens.  Come  to  me.  No,  I'd 
better  go  to  you.     Where  do  you  live  ?  " 


THE  SPY  263 

Yevsey  was  silent.  He  did  not  want  to  tell  him 
'here  he  lodged. 

"  What's  the  matter?  Do  you  live  with  a  girl? 
'hat  doesn't  matter.     You'll  introduce  me  to  her. 

lat's  all.  What  are  you  ashamed  of?  Is  that 
?" 

"  You  see  I  don't  live  alone." 

"  Well,  yes." 

11  But  I  don't  live  with  a  girl.  I  live  with  an 
old  man." 

Yakov  guffawed. 

"How  funny  you  are!  The  devil  knows  how 
you  speak.  Well,  we  don't  want  an  old  man,  of 
course.  I  live  with  two  comrades.  It's  not  con- 
venient for  anyone  to  call  on  me  either.  Come, 
let's  agree  on  a  place  where  we  can  meet." 

They  decided  on  a  meeting-place,  and  left  the 
cafe.  Yakov  on  taking  leave  gave  his  cousin  an 
affectionate  and  vigorous  handshake,  and  Yevsey 
left  him  in  precipitate  haste  as  if  he  feared  his 
cousin  would  return  to  take  it  back.  On  his  way 
he  reflected  dismally: 

"  I  cannot  go  on  the  side  of  the  city  where  the 
railway  station  is,  because  I'll  meet  Zimin  there, 
and  they'll  beat  me.  Here,  the  toughest  place,  the 
place  they  call  a  hot-bed  of  revolutionists,  Yakov 
will  be  in  my  way.  I  can't  do  a  thing.  I  can't 
turn  anywhere." 


A  feeling  of  spiteful  irritation  glided  over  his 
soul  like  a  grey  shadow. 


264  THE  SPY 

11 1  sell  old  clothes,"  sang  Grokhotov  behind  his 
back,  then  whispered,  "  Buy  a  shirt  from  me,  Klim- 
kov." 

Yevsey  turned  around,  took  some  rag  in  his 
hand,  and  examined  it  silently,  while  the  spy 
praising  the  wares  aloud,  managed  to  get  in  a  whis- 
per, "  See  here,  you  just  hit  it.  That  curly-headed 
fellow,  I  had  my  eyes  on  him.  He's  a  Socialist. 
Hold  on  to  him.  You  can  hook  a  great  many  with 
him.  He's  a  young  fellow,  a  simple  sort  of  fel- 
low, do  you  hear?  "  He  tore  the  rag  from  Yev- 
sey's  hand,  and  shouted  in  an  offended  tone,  "  Five 
kopeks  for  such  a  garment  as  this?  You're  mak- 
ing sport  of  me,  friend.  Why  should  you  insult 
me?  Go  your  way,  go."  And  shouting  his  wares, 
Grokhotov  strode  down  the  street. 

11  There,  I  myself  am  going  to  be  under  surveil- 
lance," thought  Yevsey,  looking  at  Grokhotov's 
back. 

When  a  spy  with  little  experience  became  ac- 
quainted with  a  workingman,  he  was  obliged  to 
report  the  fact  immediately  to  the  spy  above  him. 
The  latter  either  gave  him  as  an  assistant  a  spy 
with  more  experience,  or  he  himself  went  among 
the  workingmen ;  upon  which  the  other  spies  would 
say  of  him  enviously: 

"  He  *  noosed  '  himself  into  the  provocatorship." 

The  role  of  provocator  was  considered  danger- 
ous, so  by  way  of  compensation  the  officers  at  once 
gave  money  rewards  for  the  handing  over  of  a 


THE  SPY  265 

group  of  people.  All  the  spies  not  only  gladly 
"  noosed "  themselves,  but  sometimes  also  even 
tripped  one  another  up  in  the  endeavor  to  snatch 
away  the  lucky  chance.  In  this  way  the  entire 
business  was  not  infrequently  spoiled.  More  than 
once  it  happened  that  a  spy  had  already  gotten  in- 
side a  circle  of  workingmen,  when  suddenly  in  some 
secret  manner  they  learned  of  his  profession; 
whereupon  they  would  beat  him  if  he  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  time  in  slipping  away  from  the  circle. 
This  was  called  "  snapping  the  noose." 

It  was  hard  for  Klimkov  to  believe  that  Yakov 
was  a  Socialist,  though  at  the  same  time  he  wanted 
to  believe  it.  The  envy  his  cousin  aroused  was- 
transformed  again  into  irritation  against  him  for 
having  put  himself  in  his  way.  Yevsey  now  also 
recalled  the  blows  his  cousin  had  bestowed  upon 
him. 

In  the  evening,  with  eyes  turned  aside,  he  in- 
formed Piotr  of  his  acquaintance. 

"  Well,  what  of  it?  "  asked  Piotr  angrily. 

"  Nothing." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  must  do  ?  Then 
what  the  devil  is  the  use  of  teaching  you  fellows?  " 
Piotr  hastened  off,  crumpled,  lean,  with  dark  stains 
under  his  eyes. 

"  Evidently  lost  again  at  cards,"  thought  Yev- 
sey gloomily. 


CHAPTER  XX 

npHE  next  day  Sasha  learned  of  Yevsey's  suc- 
cess. He  questioned  him  in  detail.  After 
reflecting  awhile  he  smiled  his  putrid  smile,  and 
gave  Klimkov  instructions. 

"  Wait  a  little.  Then  you'll  tell  him  in  a  care- 
ful way  that  you  have  gotten  a  position  as  clerk  in  a 
printing  office,  do  you  hear?  Ask  as  few  questions 
as  possible,  let  them  speak  for  themselves.  Very 
likely  they'll  ask  you  whether  you  can't  get  them 
type.  Tell  them  you  can,  but  learn  to  say  it 
simply,  so  that  they  should  see  it's  all  the  same  to 
you  whether  you  get  it  or  don't  get  it.  Don't  ask 
what  for,  behave  like  a  little  fool,  as  you  actually 
are.  Only  I  want  you  to  know  that  if  you  botch 
this  matter,  it  will  be  bad  for  you.  After  every 
meeting  report  to  me  what  you  have  heard. 

In  intercourse  with  Sasha  Yevsey  felt  like  a  little 
dog  on  a  strap.  He  looked  at  the  spy's  pimply 
yellow  face,  and  thought  of  nothing  but  the  mo- 
ment when  he  would  be  permitted  to  depart  from 
the  cloud  of  disgusting  odors,  which  nauseated  him 
and  ate  into  the  skin  of  his  face  and  hands. 

He  went  to  meet  Yakov  as  empty  as  a  pipe. 
But  when  he  saw  his  cousin  with  a  cigarette  be- 
266 


THE  SPY  267 

tween  his  teeth  and  his  hat  cocked  to  one  side,  he 
gave  him  a  pleasant  smile,  while  something  un- 
pleasant stirred  within  him. 

"  How's  business  ?  n  shouted  Yakov  merrily. 

11  So,  so." 

"Gotten  a  job?" 

11  Yes."  The  next  instant  Yevsey  thought,  "  I 
said  it  too  soon." 

"What?" 

"  Clerk  in  a  printing  office." 

Yakov  whistled. 

11  Capital !     What  do  you  get  ?  " 

"  Twenty-five." 

"In  a  printing  office?  Indeed!"  said  Yakov 
thoughtfully,  then  suddenly  became  animated. 
"  What  do  you  say  —  I'll  take  you  to  pay  a  visit 
this  evening.  Good  company,  coz.  Two  girls, 
one  a  milliner,  the  other  a  spool  girl  in  a  thread 
factory.  There'll  be  a  locksmith  there,  too,  a 
young  fellow.  He  sings  and  plays  the  guitar. 
Two  more,  also  good  people.  All  people  are  good, 
only  they  have  no  time  to  pay  attention  to  them- 
selves." 

Yakov  spoke  quickly,  and  his  eyes  smiled  joy- 
ously at  everything  he  saw.  He  stopped  in  front 
of  the  shop-windows,  and  examined  their  contents 
with  the  gaze  of  a  man  to  whom  all  articles  are 
pleasant,  and  everything  is  interesting. 

"Look,  what  a  dress!  Ha!  If  you  were  to 
put  such  a  thing  on  our  Olya,  she'd  get  tangled  up 


268  THE  SPY 

in  it.  Books  —  that  little  one  there,  yellow,  you 
see  it?  IVe  read  it.  'Primitive  Man.1  Inter- 
esting. Read  it,  and  you'll  see  how  people  grew 
up.  Books  are  very  interesting.  They  at  once 
open  up  to  you  all  the  cunning  of  life.  Those 
thick  books  are  awkward  to  read.  By  the  time  you 
get  to  the  middle  you  forget  what  happened  at  the 
beginning,  and  at  the  end  you  forget  the  beginning 
also.  The  devil  take  them!  Why  don't  they 
write  shorter  books?  " 

The  next  minute  he  pointed  out  a  gun,  and  cried 
ecstatically : 

11  Revolvers,  eh?     Just  like  toys." 

Giving  himself  over  to  Yakov's  mood,  Yevsey 
looked  at  the  various  articles  with  the  wandering 
look  of  empty  eyes,  and  smiled,  astounded,  as  if 
for  the  first  time  seeing  the  pretty,  alluring  multi- 
tude of  brilliant  materials  and  vari-colored  books, 
the  blinding  gleam  of  colors  and  metals..  He  was 
pleased  to  hear  the  young  voice  still  in  the  state  of 
change;  the  rapid  talk  steeped  in  the  joy  of  life 
was  agreeable  to  him.  It  lightly  penetrated  the 
dark  void  of  Klimkov's  soul7"and  allowed  him  to 
^\    forget  himself  for  a  moment. 

"  You're  a  jolly  fellow,"  he  said  approvingly. 

"  Very.  I  learned  to  dance  from  the  Cossacks. 
A  score  of  Cossacks  are  stationed  in  our  fac- 
tory. Did  you  hear  that  the  men  in  our  factory 
wanted  to  rise?  You  didn't?  How's  that? 
The  newspapers  wrote  about  it.     Yes,  so  I  learned 


THE  SPY  .    269 

to  dance  from  the  Cossacks.  Wait,  you'll  see. 
Nobody  can  beat  me." 

"  Why  did  they  want  to  rise?  "  asked  Yevsey, 
provoked  by  the  simplicity  with  which  Yakov  spoke 
of  a  revolt. 

14  Why?  They  wrong  us  workingmen.  What, 
then,  are  we  to  do?  " 

44  And  you  would  have  done  it,  too  ?  " 

"What?  Rebel?  Of  course.  What  else? 
Our  people  are  good,  they're  solid." 

14  And  how  about  the  Cossacks?  " 

"The  Cossacks?  So,  so.  They  are  people, 
too.  At  first  they  thought  they  would  officer  it 
over  us,  but  then  they  said,  '  Comrades,  give  us 
leaflets.'  " 

Yakov  suddenly  broke  off  and  looked  into  Yev- 
sey's  face.  For  a  minute  he  walked  in  silence  with 
knit  brows. 

The  mention  of  the  leaflets  recalled  his  duty  to 
Yevsey.  He  wrinkled  his  forehead  painfully. 
Wishing  to  push  something  away  from  himself 
and  his  cousin,  he  said  quietly: 

44  I  read  those  leaflets." 

"Well?"  asked  Yakov,  slackening  his  gait. 

44 1  don't  understand  them.  What  are  they 
for?" 

"  You  read  some  more." 

"  I  don't  want  to." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Just  so." 


27o  THE  SPY 

"  They're  not  interesting  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  they're  not." 

For  a  while  they  walked  in  silence.  Yakov 
sniffed  meditatively,  and  gave  a  hasty  look  into 
his  cousin's  face.  Yevsey  felt  he  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  shoving  away  the  unpleasant  and  danger- 
ous theme. 

11  These  leaflets  are  a  precious  matter.  It's 
necessary  for  us  to  read  them.  All  the  slaves  of 
labor  ought  to  read  them,"  Yakov  began  heartily, 
but  in  a  modulated  voice.  "  We,  cousin,  are 
slaves,  chained  to  everlasting  work.  They  have 
made  us  captives  of  capitalists,  and  we  live  poor  in 
body  and  in  soul.  Isn't  it  so?  Now  the  leaflets 
eat  at  our  chains,  the  way  rust  eats  iron,  and  they 
liberate  our  human  minds." 

Klimkov  walked  more  quickly.  He  did  not 
want  to  hear  the  smooth  talk.  The  desire  even 
darted  through  his  mind  to  say : 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  about  such  things,  please." 

But  Yakov  himself  interrupted  his  speech. 

"  There's  the  zoo !  " 

They  drank  a  bottle  of  beer  in  the  bar-room, 
and  listened  to  the  playing  of  a  military  band. 

"  Good?"  Yakov  asked,  nudging  Yevsey's  side 
with  his  elbow.  On  the  cessation  of  the  playing 
Yakov  sighed.  "  That  was  Faust  they  played. 
An  opera.  I  saw  it  three  times.  Beautiful,  very! 
The  story  is  stupid,  but  the  music  is  good.  And 
the  songs,  too.     Come,  let's  look  at  the  monkeys. 


THE  SPY  271 

On  the  way  to  the  monkey-house  he  told  Yevsey  the 
story  of  Faust  and  the  devil  Mephistopheles.  He 
even  attempted  to  sing  something,  but  not  suc- 
ceeding he  burst  out  laughing.  "  I  can't,"  he  de- 
clared. "  It's  hard.  Besides  I've  forgotten  it. 
Do  you  know  —  the  singer  who  plays  the  devil 
gets  a  thousand  rubles  every  time  he  sings.  The 
devil  take  him,  let  him  get  ten  thousand  rubles,  be- 
cause it's  good.  When  it's  good,  I  don't  grudge 
anybody  anything.  I'd  give  my  life, —  there,  take 
it,  eat !     Isn't  it  so  ?  " 

11  Yes,"  replied  Yevsey,  looking  around. 

Yakov's  account  of  the  opera,  the  pretty  wo- 
men's faces,  the  laughter  and  talk  of  the  crowds  of 
people  in  holiday  attire,  and  over  all  the  spring  sky 
bathed  in  sunlight  —  all  this  intoxicated  Klimkov 
and  expanded  his  heart. 

"  What  a  young  fellow  he  is !  "  he  thought  in 
amazement,  as  he  looked  at  Yakov.  "  So  brave ! 
And  he  knows  everything.  Yet  he's  the  same  age 
I  am." 

Now  it  seemed  to  Yevsey  that  his  cousin  was 
leading  him  somewhere  far  off,  and  was  quickly 
opening  up  before  him  a  long  row  of  little  doors, 
behind  each  of  which  the  sound  and  the  light  grew 
pleasanter  and  pleasanter.  He  looked  around,  ab- 
sorbing the  new  impressions,  and  at  times  open- 
ing his  eyes  wide  in  anxiety.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
the  familiar  face  of  a  spy  was  darting  about  in 
the  crowd. 


272  THE  SPY 

The  two  youths  stood  before  the  monkey  cage. 
Yakov  with  a  kind  smile  in  his  eyes  said : 

"  I  love  these  wise  animals.  In  fact  I  love  every 
living  thing.  Just  look!  Wherein  are  they  less 
than  human  beings?  Isn't  it  so?  Eyes,  chins, 
how  bright  all  their  features  are,  eh?  Their 
hands — "  He  suddenly  broke  off  to  listen  to 
something.  "  Wait  a  minute,  there  go  our  folks." 
He  disappeared,  and  in  a  minute  returned  lead- 
ing a  girl  and  a  young  man  up  to  Yevsey.  The 
young  man  wore  a  sleeveless  jacket.  Yakov  cried 
out  joyously: 

"  You  said  you  weren't  coming  here,  you  deceiv- 
ers. Well,  all  right.  This  is  my  cousin  Yevsey 
Klimkov.  I  told  you  about  him.  This  is  Olya  — 
Olga  Konstantinova,  and  this  is  Aleksey  Stepano- 
vich  Makarov. 

Klimkov  bowed  clumsily  and  silently  pressed 
the  hands  of  his  new  acquaintances. 

"  There,  he's  going  to  '  noose '  me  in,"  he 
thought.     "  It's  better  for  me  to  go  away." 

But  he  did  not  go  away,  though  he  looked 
around  again,  fearful  lest  he  see  one  of  the  spies. 
He  saw  none,  however. 

"  He's  not  a  very  free  sort  of  a  fellow,"  said 
Yakov  to  the  girl.  "  He's  not  a  pair  to  me,  sin- 
ner that  I  am.     He's  a  quiet  fellow." 

"  You  needn't  feel  constrained  with  us.  We 
are  simple  people,"  said  Olga. 

She  was  taller  than  Yevsey  by  an  entire  head, 


THE  SPY  273 

and  her  size  was  heightened  by  her  luxuriant  glossy 
hair,  which  she  wore  combed  high.  Her  grey- 
blue  eyes  smiled  serenely  in  a  pale  oval  face. 

The  expression  of  the  man  in  the  sleeveless 
jacket  was  intelligent  and  kind.  His  eyes  were 
screwed  up  and  his  ears  large.  His  motions  were 
slow.  In  walking  he  moved  his  apparently  power- 
ful body  with  a  peculiar  sort  of  unconcern. 

"  Are  we  going  to  wander  about  here  long,  like 
unrepentant  sinners?"  he  asked  in  a  soft  bass. 

"  What  else  should  we  do?  "  asked  Yakov. 

"  Let's  sit  down  somewhere." 

Olga  bent  her  head  to  look  into  Klimkov's  face. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  here  before?  " 

"  No.     This  is  the  first  time." 

"  Do  you  find  it  interesting?  " 

"  Yes,  I  like  it." 

He  walked  to  her  side  trying  for  some  reason 
to  lift  his  feet  higher;  by  which  walking  became 
awkward.  They  sat  down  at  a  table,  and  called 
for  beer.  Yakov  made  jokes,  while  Makarov 
whistled  softly  and  regarded  the  public  with  his 
screwed-up  eyes. 

11  Have  you  any  companions  ?  "  asked  Olga. 

11  No,  not  one." 

"  That's  what  I  thought  at  once.  I  thought 
you  were  a  solitary  person,"  she  said  smiling. 
11  Lonely  people  have  a  peculiar  gait.  Altogether 
there's  something  noticeable  about  them.  How 
old  are  you  ?  " 


r 


274  THE  SPY 

"  I'll  soon  be  nineteen." 

"Look,  there's  a  spy!"  Makarov  exclaimed 
quietly. 

Yevsey  jumped  to  his  feet,  but  quickly  resumed 
his  seat,  and  looked  at  Olga  to  see  if  she  had  ob- 
served his  involuntary  movement  of  alarm.  He 
could  not  make  out,  however.  She  was  silently 
and  attentively  examining  Melnikov's  dark  figure, 
which  slowly  moved  through  the  passageway  be- 
tween the  tables  as  if  with  an  effort.  Melnikov 
walked  with  bent  neck  and  eyes  fastened  on  the 
ground.  His  arms  hung  at  his  side  as  if  dislo- 
cated. 

"  He  walks  like  Judas  to  the  aspen  tree,"  said 
Yakov  in  a  subdued  voice. 

"  He  must  be  drunk,"  observed  Makarov. 

"  No,  he's  always  like  that,"  was  on  the  tip  of 
Yevsey's  tongue.     He  fidgetted  in  his  chair. 

Melnikov  pushed  himself  through  the  crowd 
like  a  black  stone,  and  was  soon  lost  in  its  gaily 
colored  stream. 

"  Did  you  notice  how  he  walked?  "  Olga  asked 
Klimkov. 

Yevsey  nodded  his  head. 

11  Of  course  he's  a  mean  man,  but  he  must  be  un- 
happy and  lonely." 

Yevsey  raised  his  head,  and  looked  at  her  at- 
tentively, with  expectation. 

"  Do  you  know  I  think  that  for  a  weak  man 


THE  SPY  275 

loneliness  is  the  most  horrible  thing.  It  can  drive 
him  to  anything." 

"  Yes,  said  Klimkov  in  a  whisper,  comprehend- 
ing something.  He  looked  into  the  girl's  face 
gratefully,  and  repeated  in  a  louder  tone,  "  Yes." 

11 1  knew  him  four  years  ago,"  Makarov  re- 
counted. Makarov's  face  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  lengthened  and  dried  up.  His  bones  be- 
came visible,  his  eyes  opened  and  darkened  and 
looked  firmly  into  the  distance.  "  He  delivered 
over  one  student,  who  gave  us  books  to  read,  and 
a  workingman,  Tikhonov.  The  student  was  ex- 
iled, Tikhonov  stayed  in  prison  about  a  year,  then 
died  of  typhus." 

"Are  you  afraid  of  spies?"  Olga  suddenly 
asked  Klimkov. 

"Why?"  Yevsey  returned  dully. 

11  You  started  so  when  you  saw  him." 

Yevsey  rubbing  his  throat  vigorously  answered 
without  looking  at  her: 

"  That  was  —  because  I  know  him,  too." 

"  Aha !  "  Makarov  drawled,  smiling. 

14  Ah,  and  such  a  quiet  fellow !  "  exclaimed  Ya- 
kov. 

All  now  moved  more  closely  around  Klimkov  as 
if  desiring  to  hide  him  from  somebody's  eyes.  He 
did  not  understand  their  exclamations,  nor  their 
movements  and  kind  looks.  He  endeavored  to 
keep  quiet,  fearing  that  against  his  will  he  wouldi 


276  THE  SPY 

say  words  that  would  at  once  destroy  the  anxious 
yet  pleasant  half-dream  of  these  minutes. 

The  fresh  spring  evening  approached  quietly  and 
benignly,  softening  sounds  and  colors.  There  was 
a  red  flush  in  the  sky,  and  the  brass  instruments 
sang  a  soft  pensive  strain. 

"  Well,"  said  Makarov,  "  are  we  going  to  stay 
here,  or  are  we  going  home  ?  " 

"What  will  they  give  here?"  asked  Olga. 

"  Chorus  singing,  tight-rope  dancing,  and  all 
sorts  of  similar  nonsense." 

They  decided  to  go  home.  On  the  way  Olga 
asked  Klimkov: 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  prison?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  but  in  an  instant  added, 
"  Not  for  long." 

They  took  the  tramway  to  their  place  of  destina- 
tion. Yevsey  found  himself  in  a  little  room  with 
blue  paper  on  the  walls.  It  was  close  and  stifling, 
now  merry,  now  gloomy.  Makarov  played  the 
guitar  and  sang  songs  which  Yevsey  had  never  be- 
fore heard.  Yakov  boldly  discussed  everything  in 
the  world,  laughing  at  the  rich  and  swearing  at  the 
officials.  Then  he  danced,  filling  the  whole  room 
with  the  tread  of  his  feet  and  the  cries  and  the 
whistling  that  accompany  the  dances.  The  guitar 
tinkled  the  measure  of  the  dance,  and  Makarov  en- 
couraged Yakov  with  popular  sayings  and  shouts. 

"Go    ahead,    Yasha!     Heigho!     Who    with 


THE  SPY  277 

merriment  is  blessed,  Frightens  sorrow  from  his 
breast." 

Olga  looked  on  serenely  and  contentedly. 

11  Good,  isn't  it?"  she  asked  Klimkov  occasion- 
ally, smiling  at  him. 

Drunk  with  a  quiet  joy  unknown  to  him  Klimkov 
smiled  in  response.  He  forgot  about  himself,  and 
felt  the  obstinate  pricks  within  him  only  rarely, 
for  a  few  seconds  at  a  time.  Before  his  conscious- 
ness was  able  to  transform  them  into  clear  thought, 
they  disappeared,  without  recalling  his  life  to  him. 

It  was  not  until  he  had  reached  his  home  that  he 
remembered  his  work,  his  obligation  to  deliver 
these  merry  people  into  the  hands  of  the  gen- 
darmes. On  recalling  fhifi  duty  he  wag  gpjypd  wif-fo^ 
cold  anguish.  He  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  his  brain  a  void.  Breathing  became  difficult, 
and  he  passed  his  dry  tongue  over  his  lips.  He 
drew  off  his  clothes  quickly,  and  clad  in  nothing  but 
his  underwear  seated  himself  at  the  window.  After 
several  minutes  of  numbness  he  thought: 

11  I  will  tell  them  —  her  —  Olga." 

But  that  very  minute  he  heard  in  his  memory  the 
angry  and  contempuous  shouts  of  the  joiner,  M  Ver- 
min !  "  Klimkov  shook  his  head  in  repudiation  of 
the  idea.  "  I'll  write  to  her.  *  Take  care,'  I'll 
say  —  and  I'll  write  about  myself." 

This  thought  cheered  him.  The  next  minute, 
however,  he  reasoned : 


278  THE  SPY 

"  They'll  find  my  letter  when  they  make  the 
search.  They'll  recognize  my  handwriting,  and 
then  I'm  ruined." 

Someone  within  him  commanded  imperiously : 

11  You  can't  do  anything  of  yourself.  Do  that 
which  you  have  been  bidden  to  do." 

He  sat  at  the  window  almost  until  daybreak.  It 
seemed  to  him^that  his  entire_body  shrivelled  up 
a  nd  col  lapsed  within  him  like  a  rubber  Tpall  fronv 
which  the  air  is  expelled.  Within  grief  relent- 
lessly sucked  at  his  heart;  without  the  darkness 
pressed  upon  him,  full  of  faces  lying  in  wait. 
Amid  them,  like  ,a  red  ball,  lowered  the  sinister 
face  of  Sasha.  KTimkov  crouched  on  his  seat  un- 
able  to  think.  Finally  he  rose  cautiously,  and 
quietly  hid  himself  under  the  blanket  of  the  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IFE,  like  a  horse  that  has  stood  idle  too  long, 
began  to  caper  strangely,  refusing  to  surren- 
der to  the  will  of  those  who  wanted  to  control  it  — 
who  wanted  to  control  it  just  as  senselessly,  just  as 
cruelly  as  before. 

Every  evening  the  people  connected  with  the 
Department  of  Safety,  who  were  utterly  at  a  loss, 
spoke  more  and  more  alarmingly  of  the  increasing 
signs  of  universal  excitement,  of  the  secret  league 
of  peasants,  who  had  resolved  to  take  the  land  by 
force  from  the  landowners,  of  the  gatherings  of 
workingmen  who  began  to  censure  the  adminis- 
tration openly,  of  the  power  of  the  revolutionists, 
which  clearly  was  growing  from  day  to  day. 
Filip  Filippovich,  without  abating,  continued  to 
scratch  the  agents  of  the  Department  of  Safety  with 
his  sharp-edged,  irritating  voice.  He  overwhelmed 
everybody  with  reproaches  for  inactivity.  And 
Yasnogursky,  smacking  his  lips,  made  tragic  ap- 
peals to  the  agents  while  pressing  his  hands  to  his 
bosom. 

11  My  children,  exert  yourselves.  Remember 
that  service  in  behalf  of  the  Czar  is  not  wasted." 

But  when  Krasavin  inquired  gloomily,  "  What 

279 


28o  THE  SPY 

are  we  to  do  ?  "  he  merely  waved  his  hand,  and 
stood  for  a  long  time  with  his  deep  black  mouth 
gaping  strangely,  unable  to  find  a  reply. 

"  Catch  them !  "  he  finally  shouted. 

Yevsey,  who  listened  to  everything,  heard  the 
dapper  Leontyev  cough  drily,  and  say  to  Sasha : 

"  Apparently  our  old  methods  of  war  upon  the 
rebels  are  no  good  in  these  days  of  universal  mad- 
ness." 

"  Ye-e-e-es,  you  can't  put  out  fire  with  spittle," 
hissed  Sasha,  a  smile  distorting  his  face. 

Everybody  was  vexed  and  complained  and 
shouted.  Sasha  drew  up  his  long  legs,  and  cried 
in  mocking  derision: 

"  Aha !  The  gentlemen  revolutionists  are  get- 
ting the  better  of  us,  eh?  " 

He  laughed,  and  his  laugh  irritated  everybody. 
Yevsey  felt  that  this  man  was  not  afraid  of  any- 
thing, and  he  endeavored  not  to  hear  his  talk. 

The  spies  tossed  about  the  streets  day  and  night, 
and  every  evening  brought  long  reports  of  their 
observations.  They  spoke  to  one  another  mourn- 
fully: 

11  Is  this  the  way  to  work  nowadays?  Dear 
me!" 

Apparently  no  one  knew  a  means  by  which  the 
elemental  growth  of  the  popular  revolt  could  be 
restrained. 

"  They  will  comb  our  curls,"  said  Piotr,  cracking 
his  knuckles. 


11  They'll  take  us  off  the  list  if  we  remain  alive," 
Solovyov  chimed  in  dismally. 

"  If  they  would  give  us  a  pension  at  least !  But 
they  won't." 

"  A  noose  around  our  necks,  not  a  pension,"  said 
Melnikov  sombrely. 

The  spies  were  all  exhausted  and  confused;  all 
trembled  in  fear  of  the  morrow.  Both  they  and 
the  officials  seemed  to  have  faded.  The  people 
who  but  a  short  time  ago  had  been  terrible  in  Yev- 
sey's  eyes,  who  had  appeared  to  him  to  be  the 
powerful  and  invincible  masters  of  life,  now  ran 
from  one  corner  of  the  Department  of  Safety  to 
another,  and  fluttered  about  in  the  streets  like  last 
year's  dried  leaves. 

He  observed  with  amazement  that  there  were 
other  people,  cheerful,  simple,  and  trusting,  who 
were  able  to  walk  into  the  future,  carelessly  step- 
ping over  every  obstacle  and  snare  in  their  way, 
everyone  of  whom  was  good  in  his  own  fashion, 
and  everyone  of  whom  clearly  hinted  at  the  possi- 
bility of  something  better  than  himself.  Yevsey 
compared  them  with  the  spies,  who,  unwillingly 
with  clandestine  tread,  crept  along  the  streets  and 
into  houses,  and  secretly  spirited  away  these 
people  at  night,  in  order  to  seclude  them  in  prisons. 
He  clearly  realized  that  the  spies  did  not  under- 
stand the  aim  of  their  work,  did  not  believe  that  it 
was  needful  for  life,  and  did  not  think  or  reason 
when,  instinctively,  according  to  their  habit,  they 


282  THE  SPY 

went  about  half-sick,  half-drunk,  driven  by  dif- 
ferent fears. 

He  liked  the  tranquil  talk  of  Olga,  her  greyish 
blue  eyes,  and  that  live  strong  pity  for  people 
which  sounded  in  the  girl's  every  word.  He  liked 
the  noisy,  jesting,  somewhat  boastful  talker  Yakov, 
the  careless  Aleksey,  good-naturedly  ready  to  give 
away  his  last  shirt  and  penny  to  anyone  who  asked 
for  them.  He  met  an  increasing  number  of  people 
new  to  him,  in  each  of  whom  he  perceived  faith  in 
the  victory  of  his  drearn^ And  Yevsey  involuntar- 
ily, insensibly,  yielded  to  thi*  faith, 

Observing  the  quick  crumbling  of  that  power 
which  he  had  hitherto  submissively  served,  Yevsey 
began  to  seek  a  way  by  which  it  would  be  possible 
for  him  to  circumvent  and  escape  the  necessity  of 
betrayal.     He  reasoned  thus : 

"  If  I  go  to  them,  then  it  will  be  impossible  for 
me  not  to  deliver  them  up.  To  hand  them  over 
to  another  agent  is  still  worse.  I  must  tell  them. 
Now  that  they  are  becoming  more  powerful,  it 
will  be  better  for  me  to  be  with  them." 

So,  yielding  to  the  attraction  exerted  upon  him 
by  persons  new  to  him,  he  visited  Yakov  more  fre- 
quently, and  became  more  insistent  in  endeavoring 
to  meet  Olga.  After  each  visit  he  reported  in  a 
quiet  voice  to  Sasha  every  detail  of  his  intercourse 
with  them  —  what  they  said,  what  they  read,  and 
what  they  wanted  to  do.     He  enjoyed  telling  of 


THE  SPY  283 

them,  In  fact,  repeated  their  talk  with  secret  satis- 
faction. 

"  Oh,  a  funeral,"  snuffled  Sasha,  angrily  and 
sarcastically  fixing  Klimkov  with  his  dim  eyes. 
"  You  must  push  them  on  yourself,  if  they  are  in- 
attentive. You  must  get  in  a  hint  that  you  can  fur- 
nish them  with  type,  fix  up  a  printing  office.  Is 
is  possible  you  can't  do  that?  M 

Yevsey  was  silent. 

"  I  am  asking  you,  idiot,  can  you  do  it? 
Well? 

"  I  can." 

11  Why  don't  you  speak  out?  Suggest  it  to  them 
to-morrow,  do  you  hear?  " 

"  Very  well." 

It  was  easy  for  Klimkov  to  fulfil  Sasha's  order. 
In  reporting  about  his  cousin's  circle,  he  had  not 
ventured  to  tell  Sasha  that  both  Olga  and  Yakov 
had  already  asked  him  twice,  whether  he  could 
obtain  type  for  them.  Each  time  he  had  managed 
to  get  away  without  answering. 

The  next  evening  he  went  to  Olga,  carrying  in 
his  breast  the  dark  feeling  of  emptiness  he  always 
experienced  in  moments  of  nervous  tension.  The 
resolution  to  fulfil  the  task  was  put  into  him  by  a 
stranger's  will;  he  did  not  have  to  think  about  it 
himself.  This  resolution  spread  within  him,  and 
crowded  out  all  fear,  all  inconvenient  sympathy. 

But  when  the  tall  figure  of  Olga  stood  before 


284  THE  SPY 

..   _ 
him  in  the  small  dimly  lighted  room,  and  behind 

her  he  saw  her  large  shadow  on  the  wall,  which 
moved  to  meet  him,  Klimkov  lost  courage,  grew 
confused,  and  stood  in  the  doorway  without  speak- 
ing. 

"  I've  just  returned  from  the  factory,"  said  Olga 
pressing  his  hand.  "  We  had  another  meeting  to- 
day. What's  the  matter  with  you?  Are  you 
tired?  Are  you  sick?  Come  in,  sit  down.  Let's 
have  some  tea,  yes?  " 

She  turned  the  light  in  the  lamp  higher,  and 
looked  at  Klimkov  with  a  smile.  While  getting 
the  dishes  ready  she  continued. 

"  I  like  to  drink  tea  with  you  alone.  I  myself 
and  all  the  comrades,  we  talk  a  great  deal.  We 
must  talk  so  much,  we  scarcely  have  time  to  think. 
That's  absurd,  and  bad,  but  it's  true.  So  it's 
pleasant  to  see  a  taciturn,  thinking  man.  Will  you 
have  a  glass  of  milk?  It  will  do  you  good.  You 
are  growing  very  thin,  it  seems  to  me." 

Klimkov  took  the  glass  she  offered  him,  and 
slowly  sipped  the  watery  unsavory  milk.  He 
wanted  to  get  through  with  the  business  at  once.  I 

"  This  is  it.     You  said  you  need  type." 

"  I  did.     I  know  you'll  give  it  to  us." 

She  said  these  words  simply,  with  a  confidence 
not  to  be  shaken.  They  were  like  a  blow  to  Yev- 
sey.  He  flung  himself  on  the  back  of  the  chair 
astonished. 


THE  SPY  285 

"Why  do  you  know?"  he  asked  dully  after  a 
pause. 

"  When  I  asked  you,  you  said  neither  yes  nor  no. 
So  I  thought  you  would  certainly  say  yes." 

Yevsey  did  not  understand.  He  tried  not  to 
meet  her  look. 

"  Why?  "  he  queried  again. 

11  It  must  be  because  I  consider  you  a  good  man. 
I  trust  you." 

11  You  mustn't  trust,"  said  Yevsey. 

"  Well,  enough  nonsense,  you  must." 

"  And  suppose  youVe  been  mistaken?  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Well,  what  of  it?  "  After  a  pause  she  added 
calmly,  "  Not  to  believe  a  man  means  not  to  respect 
him.  It  means  to  think  him  beforehand  a  liar,  an 
ugly  person.     Is  that  possible?  " 

11  That's  what  is  necessary,"  mumbled  Yevsey. 

"What?" 

"  I  can  furnish  the  type."  He  sighed.  The 
task  was  accomplished.  He  was  silent  for  several 
minutes,  sitting  with  his  head  bowed,  his  hands 
pressed  tight  between  his  knees,  while  he  listened 
suspiciously  to  the  rapid  beating  of  his  heart. 

Olga  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  table,  and  in  a 
low  voice  told  him  when  and  where  the  promised 
type  must  be  brought.  He  made  a  mental  note 
of  her  words,  and  repeated  them  to  himself,  de- 
siring by  this  repetition  to  hinder  the  growth  of 


286  THE  SPY 

the  painful  feeling  in  his  empty  breast.  Now  that 
he  had  fulfilled  his  duty  a  stifling  nausea  slowly 
arose  from  the  depths  of  his  soul;  and  that  feeling 
nfjJ2J^ien  ir^jde  himself?  of  a  constantly  widening 
r1eftjn_jm  being,  came  over  him  in  a  tormenting 
wave. 

11  You  noticed,"  the  girl  said  quietly,  "  how 
rapidly  the  people  are  changing,  how  faith  in  other 
persons  is  growing,  how  quickly  one  gets  to  know 
the  other,  how  everybody  seeks  friends  and  finds 
them.  All  have  become  simpler,  more  trusting, 
more  willing  to  open  up  their  souls.  See  how  good 
it  is." 

Her  words  trembled  before  him  like  moths,  each 
with  its  own  character.  Simple,  kind,  joyous,  they 
all  seemed  fairly  to  smile.  Unable  to  make  up  his 
mind  to  look  Olga  in  the  face,  Klimkov  took  to 
watching  her  shadow  on  the  wall  over  his  shoulders, 
and  drew  upon  it  her  blue  eyes,  the  medium-sized 
mouth  with  the  pale  lips,  her  face  somewhat  weary 
and  serious,  but  soft  and  kind. 

"  Shall  I  tell  her  now  that  all  this  is  a  hocus- 
pocus?     That  she  will  be  ruined?  " 

He  answered  himself: 

"  They'll  drive  me  out.  They'll  swear  at  me, 
and  drive  me  out." 

"  Do  you  know  Zimin  the  joiner?  "  he  suddenly 
asked. 

"No,  why?" 

Yevsey  sighed  painfully. 


THE  SPY  287 

"  Just  so.     He's  a  good  man,  too,  a  Socialist." 

"  We  are  many,"  observed  Olga  with  assurance. 

"  If  she  knew  the  joiner,"  Klimkov  thought 
slowly,  "  I  would  tell  her  to  ask  him  about  me. 
Then  — " 

The  chair  seemed  to  be  giving  way  beneath  him, 
the  nauseaTlhe  thought,  would  immediately  gush 
into  his  throat.  He  coughed,  and  examined  the 
clean  little  room,  which  small  and  poor  though  it 
was,  once  more  gripped  at  his  heart.  The  moon 
looked  into  the  room  round  as  Yakov's  face,  and 
the  light  in  the  lamp  seemed  irritatingly  super- 
fluous. 

"  More  and  more  people  come  into  being  who 
realize  that  they  are  called  upon  by  destiny  to 
order  life  differently  —  upon  truth  and  intellect," 
said  Olga  dreamily  and  simply. 

Yevsey,  yielding  more  and  more  to  the  power  of 
the  triumphant  feeling  the  girl  and  the  quiet  con- 
tracted  room  inspired  in  him,  thought: 

"  I'll  put  out  the  light,  fall  on  my  knees  before 
her,  embrace  her  feet,  and  tell  her  everything  — 
and  she  will  give  me  a  kick." 

But  the  fear  of  ill  treatment  did  not  deter  him. 
He  raised  himself  heavily  from  his  chair,  and  put 
out  his  hand  to  the  lamp.  Then  his  hand  dropped 
lazily,  drowsily,  his  legs  shook.     He  started. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  demanded  Olga. 

He  tried  to  answer,  but  a  soft  gurgle  came 
instead  of  words.     He  dropped  to  his  knees,  and 


288  THE  SPX 

seized  her  dress  with  trembling  hands.  She 
pressed  one  hot  hand  against  his  forehead,  and 
with  the  other  grasped  his  shoulder,  at  the  same 
time  hiding  her  legs  under  the  table  with  a  power- 
ful movement. 

"  No,  no,  get  up !  "  she  exclaimed  sternly.  "  Oh 
my,  how  dreadful  this  is!  My  dear,  I  under- 
stand, you  are  worn  out,  I  am  sorry  for  you, 
you  rare  an  honorable  man  —  I  cannot  —  why, 
you  don't  ask  for  charity  —  then  get  up." 
•  The  warmth  of  her  strong  body  roused  in  him 
a  sharp  sensual  desire,  and  he  took  the  pushing 
of  her  hand  as  an  encouraging  caress. 

11  She's  not  a  saint,"  darted  through  his  mind, 
and  he  embraced  the  girl's  knees  more  vigorously. 

"  I  tell  you,  get  up !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a 
muffled  voice,  no  longer  persuasively,  but  in  a  tone 
of  command. 

He  rose  without  having  succeeded  in  saying 
anything.  The  girl  had  confused  his  desires,  his 
words,  and  feelings.  She  had  put  into  his  breast 
something  insulting  and  stinging. 

"  Understand  — "  he  mumbled,  spreading  out 
his  hands. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand  —  my  God,  always 
this  on  the  road !  "  she  exclaimed.  Looking  into 
his  face  she  went  on  harshly,  "  I  am  sick  of  it.  I 
am  insulted.  I  can't  be  only  a  woman  to  every- 
body. Oh,  God!  How  pitiful  you  all  are, 
after  all" 


THE  SPY  289 

She  went  to  the  window,  and  the  table  now 
separated  her  from  Yevsey.  A  dim,  cold  per- 
plexity took  hold  of  his  heart;  an  insulting  shame 
quietly  burned  him. 

M  I  tell  you  what  —  don't  come  to  me  —  I  beg 
of  you.  I'll  feel  awkward  in  your  presence,  and 
you,  too  —  please." 

Yevsey  took  up  his  hat,  flung  his  coat  over 
his  shoulders,  and  walked  away  with  bowed  head. 
Several  minutes  later  he  was  sitting  on  a  bench  at 
the  gate  of  a  house,  mumbling  as  if  drunk: 

"  The  baggage  !  "  But  he  had  to  strain  himself 
to  bring  out  the  epithet.  It  was  not  genuine. 
He  ransacked  all  the  shameful  names  for  a  woman, 
all  ugly  oaths,  and  poured  them  over  the  tall, 
shapely  figure  of  Olga,  desiring  to  sully  every  bit 
of  her  with  mud,  to  darken  her  from  head  to  foot, 
in  order  not  to  see  her  face  and  eyes.  But  oaths 
did  not  cling  to  her.  She  stood  before  his  eyes, 
stretching  out  her  hands,  pushing  him  away,  serene 
and  white.  Her  image  robbed  his  oaths  of  their 
force,  and  though  Yevsey  persistently  roused  anger 
within  himself,  he  felt  only  shame. 

He  looked  for  a  long  time  at  the  round  solitary 
ball  of  the  moon,  which  moved  in  the  sky 
in  bounds,  as  if  leaping  like  a  large  bright  rubber 
ball;  and  he  heard  the  quiet  sound  of  its  motion, 
resembling  the  beatings  of  a  heart. 

He  did  not  love  this  pale  melancholy  disk,  which 
always  seemed  to  watch  him  with  cold  obstinacy 


29o  THE  SPY 

in  the  heavy  movements  of  his  life.  It  was  late, 
but  the  city  was  not  yet  asleep.  From  all  sides 
floated  sounds. 

"  Formerly  the  nights  were  quieter,"  thought 
Klimkov.  He  rose,  and  walked  away,  without 
putting  his  arms  into  the  sleeves  of  his  coat,  his 
hat  pushed  back  on  his  neck. 

"  Well,  all  right,  wait,"  he  thought,  doing 
violence  to  himself.  Finally  he  decided,  M IU1 
deliver  them  over,  and  as  a  reward  I'll  ask  to  be 
transferred  to  another  city.     That's  all." 

He  reluctantly  surrendered  himself  to  the  desires 
to  revenge  himself  upon  Olga,  and  strengthened 
the  feeling  with  a  supreme  effort.  Nevertheless 
it  continued  to  cover  his  heart  with  a  thin  scale, 
and  was  constantly  breaking  down  so  that  he  had 
to  fortify  it  again.  Beneath  this  desire  unexpect- 
edly appeared  another,  not  strong,  but  restless. 
He  wanted  to  see  the  girl  once  more,  wanted  to 
listen  in  silence  to  her  talk,  to  sit  with  her  in  her 
room.  He  quenched  the  longing  with  thoughts 
that  designedly  lowered  Olga. 

11  If  I  had  a  lot  of  money,  you  would  dance 
naked  before  me.  I  know  your  lewd  set."  But 
to  himself  he  said  obdurately,  "  You  won't  sully 
her,  you  won't  attain  it." 

He  wanted  this  or  the  other,  but  neither  this  nor 
the  other  was  attainable.  In  calmer  moments  he 
realized  this  truth,  which  fairly  crushed  him,  and 
plunged  him  into  a  heavy  sleep  troubled  by 
nightmares.   ^/4  * 


CHAPTER   XXII 

DUT  Yevsey  pursued  his  work  precisely.  He 
gave  Makarov  a  few  heavy  bundles  of  type 
in  three  instalments,  and  cleverly  found  out  from 
him  where  the  printing-press  would  be  established. 
This  elicited  public  commendation  from  Sasha. 

"  Good  boy !  Now  we  have  six  in  our  hands  — 
that's  not  so  bad,  Klimkov.  You  will  receive 
a  reward." 

Yevsey  treated  his  praise  indifferently.  When 
Sasha  was  gone,  the  sharp  face  of  Maklakov,  which 
had  grown  thin,  leaped  into  his  eyes.  The  spy, 
sitting  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  room  on  a  sofa, 
looked  into  Yevsey's  face,  twirling  his  mustache, 
frowning,  and  vexed.  Something  in  his  look  pro- 
voked Yevsey,  who  turned  aside. 

"  Klimkov,  come  here,"  the  spy  called  out. 

Klimkov  turned  back,  and  seated  himself  next 
to  Maklakov. 

u  Is  it  true  that  you  delivered  up  your  brother?  " 
asked  Maklakov  in  a  low  voice. 

11  My  cousin." 

"You're  not  sorry?" 

"No."  Yevsey  quietly  and  angrily  repeated 
the  phrase  that  the  officials  often  uttered.     "  For 

291 


292  THE  SPY 

us,  as  for  soldiers,  there  is  neither  mother,  nor 
father,  nor  brother,  only  enemies  of  the  Czar  and 
our  country." 

"  Well,  of  course,"  said  Maklakov,  and  smiled. 
After  a  pause  he  added,  "  Really  you  are  a  '  good 
boy.'  " 

By  his  voice  and  smile  Klimkov  understood 
that  the  spy  was  making  sport  of  him.  He  felt 
offended. 

11  Maybe  I  am  sorry." 

"Yes?" 

"  But  if  I  have  to  serve  honestly  and  faith- 
fully—" 

"  Of  course.  I'm  not  disputing  with  you,  you 
queer  fellow." 

Then  Maklakov  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  asked 
Yevsey : 

"  Why  are  you  sitting  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  no  reason.     I  have  nothing  to  do." 

Maklakov  slapped  him  on  his  knee,  and  sud- 
denly said: 

"  You're  a  poor  unfortunate,  brother,  little 
man." 

Yevsey  rose. 

"  Timofey  Vasilyevich,"  he  began  in  a  trembling 
voice. 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"Tell  me  —  " 

"Tell  you  what?" 

"  I  don't  know." 


THE  SPY  293 

*  Well,  I  don't  either.n 

Klimkov  mumbled: 

11 1  am  sorry  for  my  cousin  —  and  there's  a  girl 
there,  too.  They  are  all  better  than  we,  by  God 
they  are !      Really  and  truly  they're  better." 

Maklakov  also  rose  to  his  feet,  stretched  him- 
self, and  stepping  to  the  door  remarked  coldly : 

"Go  to  the  devil!" 

Yevsey   remained   alone. 

"  Well,  there,"  thought  he,  "  there's  another 
fellow  —  all  alike.  First  they  draw  me  on,  then 
they  push  me  away." 

The   vengeful    feeling  toward   Olga   awoke   in 
him,  and  blended  with  his  sense  of  ill-will  toward 
all  people,  which  found  ample  nourishment  in  his 
soul  powerless  to  resist  because  of  the  poison  of 
many  insults.     Yevsey  vigorously  set  to  work  to  s 
enmeshing  himself  in  a  net  of  new  moods,   and  y 
he  served  now  with  a  dull  zeal  hitherto  unknown  J 
to  him. 

Gradually  the  night  came  upon  which  it  had  been 
decided  to  arrest  Olga,  Yakov,  and  all  implicated 
in  the  affair  of  the  printing-press  whom  Yevsey 
lad  succeeded  in  tracking.  He  knew  that  the 
printing-office  was  located  in  the  wing  of  a  house 
set  in  a  garden  and  occupied  by  a  large  red-bearded 
man  named  Kostya  and  his  wife,  a  stout,  pock- 
marked woman.  He  also  knew  that  Olga  was 
the  servant  of  these  two  people.  Kostya's  head 
was  close  cropped,  and  his  wife  had  a  grey  face 


294  THE  SPY 

and  roaming  eyes.  Upon  Yevsey  both  produced 
the  impression  of  witless  persons,  or  persons  who 
have  lain  in  a  hospital  a  long  time. 

"  What  fearful  people  they  are !  "  he  remarked 
to  Yakov  when  he  pointed  them  out  one  evening 
during  a  party  at  Makarov's  lodging. 

Yakov  loved  to  boast  of  his  acquaintances.  He 
proudly  shook  his  curly  head,  and  explained  with 
an  air  of  importance: 

"  It's  from  their  hard  life.  They  work  in 
cellars  at  night,  where  it  is  damp,  and  the  air  is 
close.  They  get  their  rest  in  prison.  Both  of 
them  are  fugitives,  who  live  on  other  people's 
passports.  Such  a  life  turns  everybody  inside  out 
and  upside  down.  They're  jolly  people,  too. 
When  Kostya  begins  to  tell  about  his  life,  you 
would  think  it  is  nothing  but  tears,  but  he  talks 
so  that  when  he  is  done,  your  sides  ache  from 
laughing.  You  can't  trap  such  people  very  eas- 
ily." 

Klimkov  decided  to  get  a  last  look  at  Olga.  He 
learned  through  what  street  the  prisoners  would  be 
led,  and  went  to  meet  them,  trying  to  persuade 
himself  that  all  this  did  not  touch  him.  All  the 
time  he  was  thinking  about  the  girl. 

11  She'll  certainly  be  frightened.     She'll  cry." 

He  walked,  as  always,  keeping  in  the  shade. 
He  tried  once  or  twice  to  whistle  carelessly,  but 
never  succeeded  in  checking  the  steady  stream  of 
recollections  about  Olga.     He  saw  her  calm  face, 


THE  SPY  295 

her  trusting  eyes,  listened  to  her  somewhat  broken 
voice,  and  remembered  her  words: 

11  It's  no  use  for  you  to  talk  so  badly  about 
people,  Klimkov.  Why,  have  you  nothing  to  re- 
proach yourself  with?  Suppose  everybody  were 
to  say  what  you  say,  *  It's  hard  for  me  to  live, 
because  everybody  is  so  mean,'  why,  that  would  be 
ridiculous.  Can't  you  see?  Value  yourself 
highly,  but  do  not  lower  others.  What  right  have 
you  to  do  that? '' 

When  listening  to  Olga  Yevsey  had  always  felt 
that  she  spoke  the  truth.  Now,  too,  he  had  no 
cause  to  doubt  it.  But  he  was  filled  with  the 
sheer  desire  to  see  her  frightened,  pitiful,  and  in 
tears. 

From  afar  the  wheels  of  an  equipage  began  to 
rumble,  the  horses'  shoes  clattered.  Klimkov 
pressed  himself  against  the  gate  of  a  house,  and 
waited.  The  carriage  rolled  by  him.  He  looked 
at  it  unconcernedly,  saw  two  gloomy  faces,  the 
grey  beard  of  the  driver,  and  the  large  mustache  of 
the  sergeant  at  his  side. 

"That's  all,"  thought  he,  "and  I  didn't  get 
a  chance  to  see  her." 

But  another  carriage  came  rolling  from  the  end 
of  the  street,  and  passed  him  quickly.  Yevsey 
listened  to  the  cut  of  the  whip  on  the  horse's  body, 
and  its  tired  snorting.  The  sounds  seemed  to 
hang  motionless  in  the  air.  He  thought  they 
would  hang  there  forever. 


296  THE  SPY 

Olga  with  her  head  wrapped  in  a  kerchief  was 
sitting  at  the  side  of  a  young  gendarme.  On  the 
coach  box  beside  the  driver  rose  the  figure  of  the 
policeman.  A  familiar  face  darted  by,  white  and 
good.  Yevsey  understood  more  than  saw  that 
Olga  was  perfectly  calm,  was  not  in  the  least 
frightened.  For  some  reason  he  suddenly  grew 
glad,  and  said  to  himself  as  if  retorting  to  an 
unpleasant  interlocutor: 

"  She  won't  cry,  not  she !  " 

Closing  his  eyes  and  smiling  he  stood  a  while 
longer.  Then  he  heard  steps  and  the  jingling  of 
spurs,  and  he  comprehended  that  the  men  prisoners 
were  being  led  along  the  street.  He  tore  himself 
from  the  place,  and  trying  to  make  his  footsteps 
inaudible,  quickly  ran  down  the  street,  and  turned 
the  first  corner.  He  kept  up  the  same  rapid  pace 
almost  the  entire  way  to  his  home  at  which  he 
arrived  exhausted  and  covered  with  sweat. 

The  evening  of  the  next  day  Filip  Filippovich 
casting  his  blue  rays  upon  Yevsey  said  ceremon- 
iously in  a  thinner  voice  than  usual: 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Klimkov,  on  your  fine 
achievement.  I  hope  it  will  be  the  first  link  in  a 
long  chain  of  successes." 

Klimkov  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  and 
quietly  spread  out  his  arms,  as  if  desiring  to  free 
himself  from  the  invisible  chain. 

There  were  a  few  spies  in  the  room.  They 
listened  in  silence  to  the  sound  of  the  saw,  and 


THE  SPY  297 

looked  at  Yevsey,  who  without  seeing  them  felt 
their  glances  upon  his  skin.  He  felt  awkward 
and  annoyed. 

When  Filip  Filippovich  had  finished  talking. 
Yevsey  quietly  asked  him  for  a  transfer  to  another 
city. 

M  That's  nonsense,  brother,"  said  Filip  Filippo- 
vich drily.  u  It's  a  shame  to  be  a  coward, 
especially  at  this  time.  What's  the  matter? 
Your  first  success,  yet  you  want  to  be  running  off. 
I  myself  know  when  a  transfer  is  necessary.     Go." 

"  There,  they've  rewarded  me,"  thought 
Klimkov,  dismally  and  with  a  sense  of  hurt.  But 
he  was  in  error.     The  reward  came  from  Sasha. 

"  Hey,  you  morel,  you,"  he  called  to  him, 
"  there,  take  this." 

Touching  Yevsey's  hand  with  his  dank  yellow 
hand,  he  thrust  a  piece  of  paper  into  his  grasp,  and 
walked  away. 

Yakov  Zarubin  leaped  up  to  Yevsey. 

"How  much?" 

11  Twenty-five  rubles,"  said  Klimkov,  unfolding 
the  bill  with  reluctant  fingers. 

"  How  many  people  were  there?  " 

"  Seven." 

"Seven?     Ugh!" 

Zarubin  raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and 
mumbled : 

"  Twice,  no  three  times,  seven  is  twenty-one. 
Four  into  seven  —  three  and  a  half  per  person." 


29B  THE  SPY 

He  whistled  softly,  and  looking  around 
announced : 

"  Sasha  got  a  hundred  and  fifty,  and  his  bill 
of  expenses  in  the  affair  was  sixty-three  rubles. 
They  do  us  fools.  Well,  what  now,  Yevsey? 
Give  us  a  treat.     For  joy  1  " 

11  Come,"  said  Klimkov,  looking  askance  at  the 
money.  He  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  put 
it  in  his  pocket. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

/^\N  the  way  Zarubin  said  in  a  business-like  way: 
11  After  all  your  people  seem  to  have  been 
trash." 

11  Why  ?  "  asked  Klimkov  offended.  He  sighed, 
and  said  in  a  lower  voice.     "  Not  trash  a  bit." 

"  They  gave  little  for  them,  very  little.  Ugh ! 
I  know  how  such  things  are  done.  You  can't  fool 
me,  no,  indeed.  Krasavin  once  caught  a  single 
revolutionist,  and  he  got  a  hundred  rubles.  Do 
you  hear?  And  they  sent  him  another  hundred 
from  St.  Petersburg.  Solovyov  got  seventy-five 
for  an  illegal  lady.  You  see?  And  Maklakov, 
Ugh!  Of  course  he  catches  advocates,  profes- 
sors, writers,  who  have  a  special  price.  They  are 
not  dangerous,  but  I  suppose  it  must  be  hard  to 
catch  them." 

Zarubin  spoke  without  cease.  Klimkov  was 
satisfied  with  his  tattle,  which  kept  him  from  think- 
ing of  the  oppressive  something  that  lay  in  his 
breast  like  a  cold  stone. 

The  two  youths  entered  a  public  house.  Zarubin 
in  the  confident  voice  of  a  habitue  asked  the  tall, 
thin,  one-eyed  housekeeper: 

"  Is  Lydia  well?  And  Kapa?  There,  Yevsey, 
you  will  get  acquainted  with  Kapa.     She's  a  girl, 

299 


3oo  THE  SPY 

I  tell  you,  a  monster !  She'll  teach  you  what  you 
wouldn't  learn  in  a  hundred  years  without  her. 
Well,  give  us  lemonade  and  cognac.  First  of  all, 
Yevsey,  we  must  take  a  bit  of  cognac  with 
lemonade.  That's  a  sort  of  champagne.  It  lifts 
you  up  into  the  air  at  once.     All  right?  " 

"  All  the  same  to  me." 

The  house,  apparently,  was  an  expensive  one. 
The  windows  were  hung  with  sumptuous  curtains. 
The  furniture  seemed  unusual  to  Yevsey,  the 
prettily  dressed  girls,  proud  and  inaccessible.  All 
this  distracted  him.  He  squeezed  himself  into  a 
corner,  stepping  aside  to  let  the  girls  pass,  who 
went  by  him  as  if  they  did  not  notice  him.  Their 
clothes  grazed  his  legs.  The  half-dressed  bodies, 
painted  and  already  sweaty,  lazily  floated  by  in 
oppressive  heaps.  Their  eyes  set  in  pencilled  lids 
turned  in  their  orbits.  The  eyes  were  all  large, 
though  dead  and  uniform,  notwithstanding  their 
various  colors. 

"Students?"  asked  a  reddish  girl  of  her  com- 
panion, a  stout  brunette  with  a  high  bare  bosom  and 
a  blue  ribbon  about  her  neck.  The  one  who  whis- 
pered in  her  ear  made  a  grimace  at  Yevsey.  He 
turned  away  from  her,  and  asked  Zarubin  in 
annoyance : 

"  Do  they  know  who  we  are?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course.  That's  why  they  take  only 
half  the  price  for  entrance,  and  discount  twenty-five 
per  cent,  from  the  bill." 


THE  SPY  301 

Yevsey  emptied  two  beakers  of  the  sparkling 
beverage.  Though  it  did  not  make  him  merrier, 
everything  around  him,  nevertheless,  assumed  a 
more  uniform,  less  irritating  aspect.  Two  girls 
seated  themselves  at  their  table,  Lydia  and  Kapi- 
tolina,  the  one  tall  and  strong,  the  other  broad 
and  heavy.  Lydia's  head  was  absurdly  small  in 
proportion  to  her  body;  her  forehead,  too,  was 
small,  her  chin  was  sharp  and  prominent,  her 
mouth  round,  her  teeth,  little  and  fine,  like  those  of 
a  fish,  and  her  eyes  dark  and  cunning.  Kapitolina 
seemed  put  together  from  a  number  of  balls  of 
various  sizes.  Her  protruding  eyes  were  also  like 
balls,  and  dull  as  a  blind  person's. 

Little  black  Zarubin  was  restless  as  a  fly.  He 
smelt  of  everything,  turned  his  head  from  side  to 
side,  moved  his  legs  up  and  down,  back  and  forth, 
sent  his  thin  dark  hands  flying  over  the  table  to 
seize  everything  and  feel  everything.  Yevsey 
suddenly  began  to  feel  a  heavy  dull  irritation  rising 
in  him  against  Zarubin. 

"  The  skunk!  "  he  thought.  "  He  brought  me 
a  monster  for  my  money,  and  chose  a  pretty  one  for 
himself." 

But  Yevsey  knew  that  his  annoyance  at  Zarubin 
had  a  deeper-seated  cause  than  this.  He  filled  a 
large  glass  of  cognac,  swallowed  it,  and  opened 
his  burned  mouth  and  rolled  his  eyes. 

"  Capital!"  shouted  Yakov. 

The  girls  laughed,   and   for  a  minute  Yevsey 


302  THE  SPY 

was  deaf  and  blind,  as  if  he  had  fallen  fast  asleep. 

"  This  Lydia,  Yevsey,  my  true  friend,  is  a  wise 
girl,  oh,  so  wise !  "  Zarubin  pulled  Yevsey's  sleeve 
to  rouse  him.  "  Whenever  I  merit  the  attention 
of  the  officials,  I  will  take  her  away  from  here,  will 
marry  her,  and  will  establish  her  in  my  business. 
Yes,  Lydia  darling?     Ugh!" 

"  We'll  see,"  replied  the  girl,  languidly,  looking 
sidewise  at  his  oily  eyes. 

"  Why  are  you  silent,  friend  Yevsey?"  asked 
Kapitolina,  slapping  Yevsey's  shoulder  with  her 
heavy  hand. 

"  She  addresses  everybody  by  the  first  name," 
Yakov  remarked. 

11  All  the  same  to  me,"  said  Yevsey,  without 
looking  at  the  girl,  and  moving  away  from  her. 
"  Only  tell  her  that  I  don't  like  her,  and  she 
should  go  away." 

For  a  few  seconds  all  kept  silence. 

"  To  the  devil  with  you !  "  said  Kapitolina, 
thickly  and  calmly.  Propping  herself  on  the 
table  with  her  hands,  she  slowly  lifted  her  heavy 
body  from  the  chair.  Yevsey  was  annoyed  be- 
cause she  was  not  offended.  He  looked  at  her, 
and  said: 

"  A  species  of  elephant." 

"  How  impolite!"  shouted  Lydia  compassion- 
ately, j 

"  Ugh !    Yes,  Yevsey.    That's  impolite,  brother. 


THE  SPY  303 

Kapitolina  Nikolayevna  is  an  excellent  girl.  All 
connoisseurs  value  her." 

"  To  me  it's  all  the  same,"  said  Yevsey. 
"  I  want  beer." 

"  Hey,  there,  beer!  "  shouted  Zarubin.  "  Kapa 
dear,  be  so  kind  as  to  see  we  get  beer." 

The  stout  girl  turned,  and  left  scraping  her 
feet.  Zarubin  bending  over  to  Yevsey  began 
insinuatingly  and  didactically: 

"  You  see,  Yevsey,  of  course  this  is  an  establish- 
ment of  such  a  kind,  and  so  on,  but  still  the  girls 
are  human  beings  like  you  and  me.  Why  should 
you  insult  them  uselessly?  Ugh !  They're  not  all 
here  of  their  own  accord." 

"Stop!"  said  Klimkov. 

He  wanted  everything  around  him  to  be  quiet. 
He  wanted  the  girls  to  cease  floating  in  the  air, 
like  melancholy  drifts  of  spring  clouds  torn  by  the 
wind.  He  wanted  the  shaven  pianist  with  the  dark 
blue  face,  like  that  of  a  drowned  person,  to  stop 
rapping  his  fingers  on  the  yellow  teeth  of  the 
piano,  which  resembled  the  jaw  of  a  huge  monster, 
a  monster  that  roared  and  shrieked  loud  laughter. 
He  wanted  the  curtains  of*  the  windows  to  cease 
flapping  so  strangely,  as  if  someone's  unseen  and 
spiteful  hand  were  pulling  at  them  from  the  street. 
Olga  dressed  in  white  should  station  herself  at 
the  door.  Then  he  would  rise,  walk  around  the 
room,  and  would  strike  everybody  in  the  face  with 


304  THE  SPY 

all  his  might.  Let  Olga  see  that  they  were  all 
repulsive  to  him,  and  that  she  wasn't  right,  and 
understood  nothing. 

The  complaining  words  of  Zarubin  settled 
themselves  obstinately  in  his  ears: 

"  We  came  here  to  make  merry,  but  you  at  once 
begin   a   scandal." 

Yevsey,  his  whole  body  swaying,  gave  a  dull 
glance  into  Yakov's  face,  and  suddenly  said  to 
himself  with  cold  precision: 

"  On  account  of  that  —  sneak,  I  fell  into  this 
pit  of  an  infernal  life.     All  on  account  of  him !  " 

He  took  a  full  bottle  of  beer  into  his  hands, 
filled  a  glass  for  himself,  drank  it  out,  and  without 
letting  go  of  the  bottle,  rose  from  his  seat. 

11  The  money  is  mine,  not  yours,  you  skunk !  " 

"What  of  it?     We  are  comrades!  " 

Zarubin's  black  head,  cropped  and  prickly,  fell 
back.  Yevsey  saw  the  sharp  gleaming  little  eyes 
on  the  swarthy  face,  saw  the  set  teeth. 

"  You  wait.  Sit  down." 
.  Klimkov  waved  the  bottle,  and  hit  him  in  the 
face,  aiming  at  his  eyes.  The  ruddy  blood 
gleamed  oily  and  moist,  awakening  a  ferocious 
joy  in  Klimkov.  He  swung  his  hand  once  again, 
pouring  the  beer  over  himself.  Everybody  began 
to  cry  "  Oh,  oh !  "  to  scream,  and  rock.  Some- 
body's nails  drove  themselves  into  Klimkov's  face. 
He  was  seized  by  the  arms  and  legs,  lifted  from  the 
floor,    and    carried    off.     Somebody    spat    warm 


THE  SPY  305 

sticky  saliva  into  his  face,  squeezed  his  throat,  and 
tore  his  hair. 

He  came  to  his  senses  in  the  police  station,  all 
in  tatters,  scratched,  and  wet.  He  at  once  remem- 
bered everything. 

"What  will  happen  now?"  was  his  first 
thought,  though  unaccompanied  by  alarm. 

A  police  officer  whom  he  knew  advised  him  to 
wash  his  face  and  ride  home. 

"  Are  they  going  to  try  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  police  officer,  who 
sighed,  and  added  enviously,  "  Hardly.  Your 
department  is  a  power.  It  is  permitted  everything. 
So  they'll  take  care  of  you." 

Yevsey  smiled. 

After  several  days  of  a  sort  of  even  indistinct  life 
without  impressions  and  excitement,  Yevsey  was 
summoned  to  the  presence  of  Filip  Filippovich, 
who  shouted  shrilly  a  long  time. 

"  You,  idiot,  you  ought  to  set  other  people  an 
example  of  good  conduct.  You  ought  not  to  make 
scandals.  Please  remember  that.  If  I  learn  any- 
thing of  the  same  kind  about  you,  I'll  place  you 
under  arrest  for  a  month.     Do  you  hear?" 

Klimkov  was  frightened.  He  shrank  within 
himself,  and  began  to  live  quietly,  silently,  unob- 
served, trying  to  exhaust  himself  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, in  order  to  escape  thought. 

When  he  met  Yakov  Zarubin,  he  saw  a  small 
red  scar  over  his  right  eye;  which  new  feature 


3o6  THE  SPY 

on  the  mobile  face  was  pleasant  to  him.  The 
consciousness  that  he  had  found  the  courage  and 
the  power  to  strike  a  person  raised  him  in  his  own 
eyes. 

14  Why  did  you  do  it  to  me?  "  asked  Yakov. 

44  So,"  said  Yevsey.     "  I  was  drunk." 

44  Oh,  you  devil !  You  know  what  a  face  means 
in  our  service.     We  can't  afford  to  spoil  it." 

Zarubin  demanded  a  treat  for  a  good  dinner 
from  Yevsey. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

TZTJMKOV  did  not  succeed  in  hiding  himself 
from  the  power  of  hostile  thoughts.  They 
appeared  again. 

The  news  spread  among  the  spies  that  some 
of  the  ministers  had  also  been  bribed  by  the  enemies 
of  the  Czar  and  Russia.  They  had  formed  a 
cabal  to  take  his  power  from  him,  and  replace  the 
existing  good  Russian  order  of  life  by  another 
order  borrowed  from  foreign  governments,  which 
of  course  would  be  pernicious  to  the  Russian 
people.  Now  these  ministers  issued  a  manifesto 
in  which  they  claimed  that  with  the  will  and  consent 
of  the  Czar  they  announced  that  soon  freedom 
would  be  given  to  the  people  to  assemble  wherever 
they  pleased,  to  speak  about  whatever  interested 
them,  and  to  write  and  publish  everything  they 
needed  to  in  newspapers.  Moreover,  they  would 
even  be  granted  the  liberty  not  to  believe  in  God. 

The  authorities,  dismal  and  demoralized,  again 
began  to  rush  about  anxiously.  They  again  spoke 
kindly  to  the  spies;  and  though  they  did  not 
demand  anything  of  the  agents,  nor  advise  them 
what  to  do,  it  was  apparent  that  preparations  were 
being  made  for  the  disclosure  of  something  signifi- 

307 


3o8  THE  SPY 

cant  and  important.  For  whole  hours  Filip  Filip- 
povich  would  consult  secretly  with  Krasavin,  Sasha, 
Solovyov,  and  other  experienced  agents;  after 
which  they  all  went  about  gloomy  and  preoccupied, 
and  gave  brief,  unintelligible  responses  to  the 
questions  of  their  comrades. 

Once  the  voice  of  Sasha,  virulent  and  breaking 
with  excitement  leaked  through  the  door  standing 
slightly  ajar  between  the  outer  office  and  the  cabinet 
of  Filip  Filippovich. 

"  It's  not  about  the  constitution,  not  about 
politics  that  we  ought  to  speak  to  them.  We  must 
tell  them  that  the  new  order  would  destroy  them  — 
the  quiet  among  them  would  die  of  starvation,  the 
more  forward  would  rot  in  prison.  What  sort 
of  men  have  we  in  our  service?  Hybrids,  degen- 
erates, the  psychically  sick,  stupid  animals." 

"  You  talk  God  knows  what,"  Filip  Filippovich 
piped  aloud. 

The  mournful  voice  of  Yasnogursky  was  heard 
next. 

"  What  a  scheme  you  have !  My  good  man,  I 
can't  understand  what  you're  driving  at." 

Piotr,  Grokhotov,  Yevsey,  and  two  new  spies 
were  sitting  in  the  office.  One  of  the  novices  was 
a  reddish,  hook-nosed  man  with  large  freckles  on 
his  face  and  gold  glasses;  the  other  shaven,  bald, 
and  red-cheeked  with  a  broad  nose  and  a  purple 
birthmark  on  his  neck  near  his  left  ear.  They 
listened  attentively  to  Sasha's  talk,  glancing  at  each 


THE  SPY 


3®9 


other  sidewise.  All  kept  silent.  Piotr  rose  a 
number  of  times,  and  walked  to  the  door.  Finally 
he  coughed  aloud  near  it,  upon  which  an  invisible 
hand  immediately  closed  it.  The  bald  spy  care- 
fully felt  his  nose  with  his  thick  fingers,  and  asked 
quietly: 

"  Who  was  it  he  called  hybrids?  " 

At  first  nobody  responded,  then  Grokhotov  sigh- 
ing humbly  said: 

"  He  calls  everybody  hybrid." 

"  A  smart  beast!"  exclaimed  Piotr  smiling 
dreamily.  "  Rotten  to  the  core,  but  just  see  how 
his  power  keeps  rising!  That's  what  education 
will  do  for  you." 

The  bald-headed  spy  looked  at  everybody  with 
his  mole  eyes,   and  again  asked  hesitatingly: 

"  What  does  he  mean  —  eh,  eh  —  does  he 
mean  us?  " 

"  Politics,"  said  Grokhotov.  "  Politics  is  a  wise 
business.     It's  not  squeamish." 

"  If  I  had  received  an  education,  I  too,  would 
have  turned  up  trumps,"  declared  Piotr. 

The  red-headed  spy  carelessly  swung  himself  on 
his  chair,  his  mouth  frequently  gaping  in  a  wide 
yawn. 

Sasha  emerged  from  the  cabinet,  livid  and 
dishevelled.  He  stopped  at  the  door,  and  looked 
at  everybody. 

"Eavesdropping,   eh?"  he  asked  sarcastically. 

The  rest  of  the  spies  dropped  into  the  office 


310  THE  SPY 

one  by  one,  wearily  and  dismally,  flinging  various 
remarks  at  one  another.  Maklakov  came  in  an  ill 
humor.  The  look  in  his  eyes  was  sharp  and  insult- 
ing. He  passed  quickly  into  the  cabinet,  and 
banged  the  door  behind  him. 

11  Tables  are  going  to  be  turned,"  Sasha  said 
to  Piotr.  "  We'll  be  the  secret  society,  and  they'll 
remain  patent  fools.  That's  what's  going  to 
happen.  Hey,"  he  shouted,  "  no  one  is  to  leave 
the  office.     There's  going  to  be  a  meeting." 

All  grew  still.  Yasnogursky  came  out  from 
the  cabinet  with  a  broad  smile  widening  his  large 
mouth.  His  protuberant  fleshy  ears  reached  to 
the  back  of  his  neck.  All  sleek  and  slippery,  he  I 
produced  the  impression  of  a  large  piece  of  soap. 
He  walked  among  the  crowd  of  spies  pressing  their 
hands  and  kindly  and  humbly  nodding  his  head. 
Suddenly  he  walked  off  into  a  corner,  and  began 
to  address  the  agents  in  a  lachrymose  voice : 

"  Good  servants  of  the  Czar,  it  is  with  a  heart 
penetrated  by  grief  that  I  address  myself  to  you  — 
to  you,  men  without  fear,  men  without  reproach, 
true  children  of  the  Czar,  your  father,  and  of  the 
true  Orthodox  Church,  your  mother,  —  to  you  I 
speak." 

"Look  at  him  howling!"  somebody  whispered 
near  Yevsey,  who  thought  he  heard  Yasnogursky 
utter  an  ugly  oath. 

"  You  already  know  of  the  fresh  cunning  of  the 
enemy,  of  the  new  and  baneful  plot.     You  read  the 


THE  SPY  311 

proclamation  of  Minister  Bulygin,  in  which  it  is 
said  that  our  Czar  wishes  to  renounce  the  power 
entrusted  to  him  by  our  Lord  God  over  Russia  and 
the  Russian  people.  All  this,  dear  comrades  and 
brothers,  is  the  infernal  game  of  people  who  have 
delivered  over  their  souls  to  foreign  capitalists.  It 
is  a  new  attempt  to  ruin  our  sacred  Russia.  What 
do  they  want  to  attain  with  the  Duma  they  have 
promised?  What  do  they  want  to  attain  by  this 
very  constitution  and  liberty?" 

The  spies  moved  closer  together. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy 
Ghost,  let  us  examine  the  snares  of  the  devils  in 
the  light  of  truth.  Let  us  look  at  them  with  our 
simple  Russian  mind,  and  we'll  see  how  they  scatter 
like  dust  before  our  eyes.  Just  look!  They  want 
to  deprive  the  Czar  of  his  divine  power,  his  liberty 
to  rule  the  country  according  to  the  dictates  from 
on  High.  They  want  to  arrange  popular 
elections,  so  that  the  people  should  send  to  the 
Czar  their  representatives,  who  would  promulgate 
laws  abridging  his  power.  They  hope  that  our 
people,  ignorant  and  drunk,  will  permit  themselves 
to  be  bought  with  wine  and  money,  and  will  bring 
into  the  Czar's  palace  those  who  are  pointed  out  to 
them  by  the  traitors,  liberals  and  revolutionists. 
And  whom  will  they  point  out?  Jews,  Poles,  Ar- 
menians, Germans,  and  other  strangers,  enemies 
of  Russia." 

Klimkov  observed  that  Sasha  standing  in  back 


3i2  THE  SPY 

of  Yasnogursky,  smiled  sardonically  like  the  devil. 
He  inclined  his  head,  to  keep  the  sick  spy  from 
noticing  him. 

u  This  band  of  venal  swindlers  will  surround 
the  bright  throne  of  our  Czar  and  will  close  his 
wise  eyes  to  the  destiny  of  our  country.  They 
will  deliver  Russia  over  into  the  hands  of  stran- 
gers and  foreigners.  The  Jews  will  establish  their 
government  in  Russia,  the  Poles  their  government, 
the  Armenians  and  the  Georgians  theirs,  the  Letts 
theirs,  and  other  paupers  whom  Russia  took  under 
the  shelter  of  her  powerful  hand,  theirs.  They 
will  establish  their  governments,  and  when  we  Rus- 
sians remain  alone  —  then  —  then  —  it  means  — " 

Sasha  standing  at  Yasnogursky^  side,  began  to 
whisper  into  his  ear.  The  old  man  waved  him 
off  in  annoyance,  and  said  aloud: 

"  Then  the  Germans,  and  the  English  will  rush 
upon  us,  and  will  clutch  us  in  their  greedy  paws. 
The  destruction  of  Russia  is  threatening  us,  dear 
comrades,  my  friends.     Have  a  care!  " 

The  last  words  of  his  speech  were  uttered  in  a 
shout,  then  he  lapsed  into  silence  lasting  about  a 
minute,  after  which  he  raised  his  hand  over  his 
head  and  resumed : 

"  But  our  Czar  has  friends.  They  watch  over 
his  power,  and  over  his  glory  like  faithful  dogs 
unbought.  They  have  organized  a  society  for 
war  upon  the  dastardly  conspiracies  of  the  revo- 
lutionists, upon  the  constitution,  and  every  abom- 


THE  SPY  313 

ination  destructive  to  us,  the  true  Russian  people. 
Counts  and  princes  celebrated  for  their  services  to 
the  Czar  in  Russia  are  entering  this  organization, 
governors  submissive  to  the  will  of  the  Czar 
and  faithful  to  the  covenant  of  our  sacred  past. 
Perhaps  even  the  very  highest  — " 

Sasha  again  stopped  Yasnogursky.  The  old 
man  listened  to  him,  grew  red,  waved  his  hands, 
and  suddenly  shouted: 

"Well,  speak  yourself.  What  does  it  mean? 
What  right  have  you  —  I  don't  want  to  — " 

He  gave  an  odd  little  leap,  and  pushing  the 
crowd  of  spies  apart,  walked  away.  Sasha  now 
took  his  place,  and  stood  there  tall  and  stooping 
with  head  thrust  forward.  Looking  around  with 
his  red  eyes,  and  rubbing  his  hands,  he  asked 
sharply : 

"  Well,  did  you  understand?  " 

"  We  did  —  we  did,"  several  voices  sounded 
sullenly  and  half-heartedly. 

"  Of  course !  "  exclaimed  Sasha  in  derision. 
Then  he  began  to  speak,  pronouncing  every  word 
with  the  precision  of  a  hammer-blow.  His  voice 
rang  with  malice. 

11  Let  those  also  listen  who  are  wiser.  Let  them 
explain  my  words  to  the  fools.  The  revolution- 
ists, the  liberals,  our  Russian  gentry  in  general, 
have  conquered.  Do  you  understand?  The  ad- 
ministration has  resolved  to  yield  to  their  demands, 
it  wants  to  give  them  a  constitution.     What  does 


3H 


THE  SPY 


a  constitution  mean  to  you?  Starvation,  death, 
because  you  are  idlers  and  do-nothings,  you  are 
no  good  for  any  sort  of  work.  It  means  prison 
for  the  most  of  you,  because  most  of  you  have 
merited  it;  for  a  few  others  it  means  the  hospital, 
the  insane  asylum,  because  there  are  a  whole  lot 
of  half-witted  men,  psychically  sick,  among  you. 
The  new  order  of  life,  if  established,  will  make 
quick  work  of  you  all.  The  police  department  will 
be  destroyed,  the  Department  of  Safety  will  be 
shut  down,  you  will  be  turned  out  into  the  street. 
Do  you  understand  ?  " 

All  were  silent,  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

11  Then  I  would  go  away  somewhere,"  Klimkov 
thought. 

"  I  think  it's  plain,"  said  Sasha,  after  a  period 
of  silence.  As  he  again  embraced  his  audience 
in  his  look,  the  red  band  on  his  forehead  seemed 
to  have  spread  over  his  whole  face,  and  his  face 
to  become  covered  with  a  leaden  blue. 

"  You  ought  to  realize  that  this  change  is  not 
advantageous  to  you,  that  you  don't  want  it. 
Therefore  you  must  fight  against  it  now.  Isn't 
that  so?  For  whom,  in  whose  interest,  are  you 
going  to  fight?  For  your  own  selves,  for  your 
interests,  for  your  right  to  live  as  you  have  lived 
up  to  this  time.  Is  what  I  say  clear?  What  can 
we  do?     Let  everyone  think  about  this  question." 

A  heavy  noise  suddenly  arose  in  the  close  room, 
as  if  a  huge  sick  breast  were  sighing  and  rattling. 


THE  SPY  315 

Some  of  the  spies  walked  away  silently  and  sul- 
lenly, with  drooping  heads.  One  man  grumbled 
in  vexation: 

11  They  tell  us  this  and  they  tell  us  that.  Why 
don't  they  increase  our  salaries  instead?" 

11  They  keep  frightening  us,  always  frightening 
us." 

In  the  corner  near  Sasha  about  a  dozen  men  had 
gathered.  Yevsey  quietly  moved  up  to  the  group, 
and  heard  the  enraptured  voice  of  Piotr : 

"That's  the  way  to  speak!  Twice  two  are 
four,  and  all  are  aces." 

"  No,  I'm  not  satisfied,"  said  Solovyov  sweetly 
with  a  prying  note  in  his  voice.  "  Think !  What 
does  it  mean  to  think?  Everyone  may  think  in  his 
own  way.     You  should  tell  me  what  to  do." 

"  You  have  been  told !  "  put  in  Krasavin  roughly 
and  sharply. 

"I  don't  understand,"  Maklakov  declared 
calmly. 

11  You  ?  "  shouted  Sasha.  "  You  lie !  You  do 
understand!  " 

"  No." 

"  And  I  say  you  do,  but  you're  a  coward,  you're 
a  nobleman  —  and  —  and  —  and  I  know  you." 

"  Maybe,"  said  Maklakov.  "  But  do  you  know 
what  you  want  ?  "  He  spoke  in  so  cold  a  tone,  and 
put  so  much  significance  into  his  voice,  that  Yevsey 
trembled  and  thought: 

"Will  Sasha  strike  him?" 


3*6  THE  SPY 

Sasha,  however,  merely  repeated  the  question 
in  a  screeching  voice: 

"I?     Do  I  know  what  I  want?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  will  tell  you."  Sasha  raised  his  voice  threat- 
eningly. "  I  am  soon  going  to  die.  I  have  no- 
body to  fear.  I  am  a  stranger  to  life.  I  live 
with  hatred  of  good  people  before  whom  you  in 
your  thoughts  crouch  on  your  knees.  Don't  you 
know  ?  You  lie.  You  are  a  slave,  a  slave  in  your 
soul.  A  lackey,  though  you  are  a  nobleman,  and 
I  am  a  muzhik,  a  perspicacious  muzhik.  Even 
though  I  attended  the  university,  nothing  has  cor- 
rupted me." 

s  Yevsey  felt  that  Sasha's  words  crawled  in  his 
I  heart  like  spiders,  enmeshing  him  in  gluey  threads, 
J  squeezing  him,  tying  him  up,  and  drawing^him  to 
I  Sasha.  He  pressed  through  to  the  front,  and 
I  stood  alongside  the  combatants  trying  to  see  the 
Vaces  of  both  at  the  same  time. 

"  I  know  my  enemy.  It's  you,  the  gentry. 
You  are  gentlemen,  even  as  spies.  You  are  ab- 
horrent everywhere,  everywhere  execrable,  men  and 
women,  writers  and  spies.  But  I  know  a  means 
for  having  done  with  you  gentlemen,  the  gentry. 
I  know  a  way.  I  see  what  ought  to  be  done  with 
you,  how  to  destroy  you." 

"  That's  the  very  point  that's  interesting,  not 
your  hysterics,"  said  Maklakov  thrusting  his  hands 
in  his  pockets. 


THE  SPY  317 

11  Yes,  it's  interesting  to  you  ?  Very  well.  I'll 
tell  you." 

Sasha  evidently  wanted  to  sit  down,  for  he  vacil- 
lated like  a  pendulum.  He  looked  around  as  he 
spoke  without  pause,  breathless  from  quick  utter- 
ance. 

11  Who  orders  life?  The  gentry.  Who  spoiled 
the  pretty  animal  man?  Who  made  him  a  dirty 
beast,  a  sick  beast?  You,  the  gentry.  Hence  all 
this,  the  whole  of  life,  ought  to  be  turned  against 
you.  So  we  must  open  all  the  ulcers  of  life,  and 
drown  you  in  the  stream  of  abomination  that  will 
flow  from  them,  in  the  vomit  of  the  people  you 
have  poisoned.  A  curse  on  you!  The  time  of 
your  execution  and  destruction  has  come.  AH 
those  who  have  been  mutilated  by  you  are  rising 
against  you,  and  they'll  choke  you,  crush  you,  you 
understand?  Yes,  that's  how  it  will  be.  Nay,  it 
already  is.  In  some  cities  they  have  already  tried 
to  find  out  how  firmly  the  heads  of  the  gentlemen 
are  fixed  on  their  shoulders.  You  know  that, 
don't  you  ?  " 

Sasha  staggered  back,  and  leaned  against  the 
wall,  stretching  his  arms  forward,  and  choking 
and  gasping  over  a  broken  laugh.  Maklakov 
glanced  at  the  men  standing  around  him,  and  asked 
also  with  a  laugh : 

"  Did  you  understand  what  he  said?  " 

11  One  can  say  whatever  he  pleases,"  replied 
Solovyov,  but  the  next  instant  added  hastily,  M  In 


3 1 8-  THE  SPY 

one's  own  company.  The  most  interesting  thing 
would  be  to  find  out  for  certain  whether  a  secret 
society  has  actually  been  organized  in  St.  Peters- 
burg and  for  what  purpose." 

11  That's  what  we  want  to  know,"  said  Krasavin 
in  a  tone  of  demand.  "  And  what  sort  of  people 
are  in  it,  too." 

"  In  reality,  brothers,  the  revolution  has  been 
transferred  to  other  quarters,"  exclaimed  Piotr, 
merrily  and  animatedly. 

"  If  there  really  are  princes  in  that  society," 
Solovyov  meditated  dreamily,  "  then  our  business 
ought  to  improve." 

"  You  have  twenty  thousand  in  the  bank  any- 
way, old  devil." 

"  And  maybe  thirty.  Count  again,"  said  Solov- 
yov in  an  offended  tone,  and  stepped  aside. 

Sasha  coughed  dully  and  hoarsely ;  while  Makla- 
kov  regarded  him  with  a  scowl.  Yevsey  grad- 
ually freed  himself  from  the  thin  shackles  of  the 
attraction  that  the  sick  spy  had  unexpectedly  begun 
to  exert  upon  him.  His  talk,  which  at  first  had 
seized  Klimkov,  now  dissolved  and  disappeared 
from  his  soul  like  dust  under  rain. 

"What  are  you  looking  at  me  for?"  shouted 
Sasha  at  Maklakov. 

Maklakov  turned  and  walked  away  without  an- 
swering.    Yevsey  involuntarily  followed  him. 

"Did  you  understand  anything?"  Maklakov 
suddenly  inquired  of  Yevsey. 


THE  SPY  319 

"  I  don't  like  it." 

".No?     Why?" 

11  He's  always  rancorous,  and  there's  rancor 
enough  without  him." 

"  Yes,  so  there  is,"  said  Maklakov,  nodding  his 
head.     "  There's  rancor  enough." 

"  And  it's  impossible  to  understand  anything," 
Klimkov  continued,  looking  around  cautiously. 
"  Everybody  speaks  differently  — " 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  his  mouth  when 
he  grew  alarmed,  and  glanced  sidewise  at  Mak- 
lakov's  face.  The  spy  pensively  brushed  the  dust 
from  his  hat  with  his  handkerchief,  apparently  ob- 
livious of  the  dangerous  words. 

"  Well,  good-by,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand 
to  Yevsey.  Yevsey  wanted  to  accompany  him,  but 
the  spy  put  on  his  hat,  and  twirling  his  mustache, 
walked  out  without  so  much  as  looking  at  him. 


Ox^ 


CHAPTER  XXV 

COMETHING  strange,  like  a  dream,  grew  in  the 
city,  rushing  onward  with  irresistible  rapidity. 
People  lost  their  fear  completely.  On  the  faces 
which  only  a  short  time  ago  had  been  flat  and 
humble,  an  expression  of  conscious  power  and 
preoccupation  now  appeared  sharply  and  clearly. 
All  recalled  builders  preparing  to  pull  down  an 
old  structure,  and  busily  considering  the  best  way 
of  beginning  the  work. 

'Almost  every  day  the  workingmen  in  the  fac- 
tory suburb  openly  arranged  meetings,  at  which 
known  revolutionists  appeared,  who  in  the  very 
presence  of  the  police  and  officials  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  Safety  sharply  censured  the  order  of  life, 
and  pointed  out  that  the  manifesto  of  the  minister 
convoking  the  Duma  was  an  attempt  of  the  admin- 
istration to  pacify  the  people,  who  were  stirred 
up  by  misfortune,  in  order  to  deceive  them  in  the 
end,  as  always.  The  speakers  urged  their  listeners 
not  to  believe  anybody  except  their  own  reason. 

Once  when  a  rebel  orator  shouted,  "  The  people 

alone  are  the  true  and  legal  masters  of  life;  to 

them  belong  the  whole  earth  and  all  freedom,"  a 

triumphant  roar  came  in  reply,  "  True,  brother!  " 

320 


THE  SPY  321 

Yevsey  deafened  by  the  shouts  turned  away,  and 
met  Melnikov  who  had  been  standing  in  back  of 
him.  His  eyes  burned,  he  was  black  and  dishev- 
elled. He  flapped  his  arms,  as  a  crow  flaps  its 
wings,  and  bawled: 

"  Tr-r-r-ue !  " 

Klimkov  pulled  the  skirt  of  his  coat  in  amaze- 
ment, and  whispered  in  a  low  voice : 

"What  ails  you?  The  speaker  is  a  Socialist. 
He's  under  surveillance." 

Melnikov  blinked  his  eyes,  and  asked : 

u  He?  "  Without  awaiting  a  reply,  he  shouted 
again,  "  Hurray !  True !  "  Then  to  Yevsey  very 
angrily,  "  Get  out !  It's  all  the  same  who  speaks 
the  truth." 

Yevsey  smiled  tim'dly  **•  f^e  nfw  sppprhpQ  He 
looked  around  helplessly  for  some  person  in  the 
crowd  with  whom  he  might  speak  openly;  but  on 
finding  a  pleasant  face  that  inspired  confidence,  he 
sighed  and  thought: 

"  I'll  begin  to  talk  with  him,  and  he'll  at  once 
understand  that  I'm  a  spy." 

He  frequently  heard  the  revolutionists  speak  of 
the  necessity  of  arranging  another  life  upon  earth.  N 
Dreams  of  his  childhood  returned,  broadened  and  / 
filled  with  a  clear  content.  He  believed  in  the  y 
hot  fearless  words.  But  the  faith  grew  feebly  f 
and  lazily  upon  the  shaky,  slimy  soil  of  his  soul,  \ 
choked  with  impressions,   poisoned  by  fear,   and J 


322  THE  SPY 

exhausted  by  violence.  His  faith  was  like  a  child 
suffering  with  rachitis,  bow-legged,  with  large  eyes 
always  gazing  into  the  distance. 

Yevsey.  admired  the  beautiful  growth  of  the 
rebellion.  But  he  lacked  the  power  to  fall  in  love 
A  with  it.  He  believed  words.  He  did  not  believe 
people.  The  dreams  stirring  his  heart  died  the 
instant  they  touched  it.  A  timorous  spectator  he 
walked  along  the  shore  of  a  stream  without  the 
desire  to  plunge  into  its  soul-refreshing  waves.  At 
the  same  time  he  longed  wistfully  for  someone  to 
triumph,  for  someone  to  make  life  calm  and  pleas- 
ing, and  point  out  a  comfortable  place  in  it  where 
he  might  find  repose. 

At  first  he  could  not  comprehend  why  both  the 
revolutionists  and  the  officers  of  the  spies  censured 
the  administration,  why  both  asserted  that  some- 
one wanted  to  deceive  the  people.  When  the  peo- 
ple themselves,  however,  came  out  into  the  street, 
and  began  to  speak,  Yevsey  stopped  to  think  about 
this  question. 
J  The  spies  walked  about  slowly,  indolently;  they 
all  grew  strange  to  one  another,  maintaining  sullen 
silence,  and  looking  into  the  eyes  of  their  comrades 
suspiciously,  as  if  expecting  something  dangerous 
from  one  another.  The  officials  ceased  to  talk, 
and  sank  into  the  background.  They  gave  out  no 
plans  of  action,  and  said  nothing  new. 

"  Has  nothing  been  heard  in  regard  to  this  St. 


THE  SPY  323 

Petersburg  league  of  princes  ?"   Krasavin  asked 
almost  every  day. 

Once  Piotr  joyously  announced: 

"  Boys,  Sasha  has  been  summoned  to  St.  Peters- 
burg.    He'll  fix  up  a  game  there,  you'll  see." 

Viakhirev,  the  hook-nosed,  reddish  spy,  re- 
marked lazily: 

11  The  League  of  Russian  People  has  been  per- 
mitted to  organize  fighting  bands  to  kill  the  revo- 
lutionists.    I'll  go  there,  I'm  a  good  shot." 

14  A  pistol  is  a  fine  thing,"  said  someone.  "  You 
shoot,  and  then  run  away." 

"  How  simply  they  speak  about  everything," 
thought  Yevsey.  He  involuntarily  recalled  other 
conversations  —  Olga  and  Makarov  —  which  he 
•ipaffently  pushed  away  from  himself. 
^Sasha  returned  from  St.  Petersburg,  as  it  were 
stronger.  Concentrated  green  sparks  gleamed  in 
his  dim  eyes.  His  voice  had  become  deeper,  his 
entire  body  seemd  to  have  straightened  and  grown 
sounder. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do?  "  asked  Piotr. 

"  You'll  soon  find  out,"  answered  Sasha,  show- 
ing his  teeth. 

Autumn  came  as  always  quiet  and  melancholy. 
But  the  people  did  not  remark  its  advent.  Yes- 
terday bold  and  noisy,  to-day  they  came  out  into 
the  streets  still  bolder,  still  more  confident,  and 
upheld    Yevsey's    faith    in   their   victory,    in    the 


324  THE  SPY 

nearness,  of  a  calm,  peaceful,  comfortable  life. 
Then  came  the  fabulously  terrible  and  marvel- 
lous days,  when  all  the  people  ceased  to  work,  and 
the  customary  life  that  for  so  long  had  held  op- 
pressive sway,  oppressive  in  its  cruelty  and  aimless 
play,  suddenly  ceased,  as  if  crushed  by  a  giant 
embrace.  The  people  refused  the  city,  their  ruler, 
bread,  fire,  and  water.  And  for  a  number  of 
nights  it  stood  in  darkness,  hungry,  thirsty,  sullen, 
and  affronted.  During  those  dark,  insulting 
nights,  the  working-people  walked  through  the 
streets  with  song,  childish  joy  shining  in  their  eyes. 
For  the  first  time  they  clearly  saw  their  power,  and 
themselves  were  amazed  at  its  significance.  They 
understood  their  might  over  life,  and  good-natur- 
edly exulted,  looking  at  the  blinded  houses,  the 
motionless  dead  machines,  the  dumfounded  police, 
the  closed,  ever-hungry  jaws  of  the  shops  and 
restaurants,  the  frightened  faces,  the  humble  figures 
of  those  persons  who  had  never  learned  to  work, 
but  only  to  eat  much,  and  who  therefore  considered 
themselves  the  best  blood  in  the  city.  Their  power 
over  people  had  been  torn  from  their  impotent 
hands  in  these  days,  yet  their  cruelty  and  cunning 
remained.  Klimkov  looked  at  the  men  accus- 
tomed  to  command  now  silently  submitting  to  the 
will  of  the  hungry,  poor,  and  unwashed.  He  un- 
derstood that  it  had  become  a  shame  for  the  lords 
to  live.  So  trying  to  cover  up  their  shame,  they 
smiled  approvingly  upon  the  working-people,  and 

I 


THE  SPY  325 

lied  to  them.  They  were  afraid  of  the  workers. 
In  spite  of  the  lords,  however,  it  seemedjo  Yevsey 
that  the  past  would  not  return.  He  felt  that  new 
masters_Jiad_arisen,  and  if  they  had  been  able  all 
of  a  sudden  to  stop  the  course  of  life,  then  they 
would  now  be  able  to  arrange  it  differently,  more 
freely,  and  more  easily  for  themselves  and  for 
all.   ' 

The  old,  the  cruel,  and  the  malicious  abandoned 
the  city.  It  melted  away  in  the  darkness.  The 
people  perceptibly  grew  better,  and  though  the 
city  remained  without  illumination,  yet  the  nights 
were  stirring,  merry  as  the  days. 

Everywhere  crowds  of  people  gathered  and 
spoke  animatedly,  in  free,  bold,  human  speech,  of 
the  approaching  days  of  the  triumph  of  truth. 
They  believed  in  it  hotly.  The  unbelievers  were 
silent,  but  looked  into  the  new  faces,  impressing 
the  new  speech  upon  their  minds. 

Often  Klimkov  observed  the  spies  in  the  crowds. 
Not  wishing  to  be  seen  by  them,  he  walked  away. 
He  met  Melnikov  more  frequently  than  the  others. 
This  man  roused  his  particular  interest.  A  dense 
crowd  always  gathered  around  him,  and  his  thick 
voice  flowed  from  the  centre  of  the  group  like  a 
dark  stream. 

"  There,  you  see !  The  people  wanted  it,  and 
everything  is  up.  If  the  people  want  it,  they  will 
take  everything  into  their  own  hands.  They're 
a  power,  the  people  are.     Remember  this  —  don't 


326  THE  SPY 

let  what  you  have  obtained  slip  from  your  grasp. 
Take  care!  More  than  everything,  guard  against 
the  cunning  of  various  gentlemen.  Away  with 
them.  Drive  them  off!  If  they  dispute,  beat 
them  to  death." 

When  Klimkov  heard  this,  he  thought : 

11  For  such  talk  people  used  to  be  put  in  prison. 
What  numbers  have  been  put  in  prison !  And  now 
they  speak  that  way  themselves." 

He  wandered  about  in  the  crowd  alone  from 
morning  until  late  at  night.  Sometimes  he  had 
an  irresistible  yearning  to  speak;  but  as  soon  as 
he  felt  the  desire  coming  upon  him,  he  immedi- 
ately walked  off  into  empty  by-streets  and  dark 
corners. 

"  If  I  speak,  they'll  recognize  me,"  he  thought 
with  importunate  dread.  And  he  comforted  him- 
self by  reflecting,  u  No  hurry.  I'll  have  time 
enough  yet  to  speak." 

One  night  while  walking  along  the  street,  he 
saw  Maklakov  hidden  in  a  gateway,  looking  up 
to  a  lighted  window  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street  like  a  hungry  dog  waiting  for  a  sop. 

11  Keeps  at  his  work,"  thought  Yevsey,  then  said 
to  Maklakov:  "  Do  you  want  me  to  take  your 
place,  Timofey  Vasilyevich?  " 

"You,  me,  Yevsey?"  exclaimed  the  spy  in  a 
subdued  voice,  and  Klimkov  felt  that  something 
was  wrong,  for  it  was  the  first  time  that  the  spy 


THE  SPY  327 

had  ever  addressed  him  by  the  first  name.  More- 
over Maklakov's  voice  was  not  his  own.  "  No, 
go,"  he  said. 

The  spy  always  so  smooth  and  decorous  now 
had  a  shabby  appearance.  His  hair,  as  a  rule 
carefully  and  prettily  combed  behind  his  ears,  lay 
in  disorder  over  his  forehead  and  temples.  He 
smelt  of  whiskey. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Yevsey  raising  his  hat  and 
walking  off  slowly.  He  had  taken  only  a  few 
steps,  however,  when  he  heard  a  call  behind  him. 

"Listen!" 

Yevsey  turned  back  noiselessly,  and  stood  beside 
Maklakov. 

"  Let's  walk  together." 

"  He  must  be  very  drunk,"  thought  Yevsey. 

11  Do  you  know  who  lives  in  that  house?  "  asked 
Maklakov,  looking  back. 

"  No." 

11  Mironov,  the  writer.  Do  you  remember 
him?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Well,  I  should  think  you  would.  He  made 
you  out  a  fool  so  simply." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Yevsey. 

They  walked  slowly  with  noiseless  tread.  The 
narrow  street  was  quiet,  deserted,  and  cold. 

"  Let's  go  back,"  continued  Maklakov.  Then 
he  adjusted  his  hat  on  his  head,  buttoned  his  over- 


328  THE  SPY 

coat,  and  declared  thoughtfully,  "  Brother,  I  am 
going  away  —  to  Argentine.  That's  in  Amer- 
ica." 

Klimkov  heard  something  hopeless,  dismal  in 
his  words,  and  he,  too,  began  to  feel  gloomy  and 
awkward. 

"Why  — so  far?" 

"  I  must." 

Maklakov  again  stopped  opposite  the  illu- 
minated window,  and  looked  up  to  it  silently. 
Like  a  huge,  solitary  eye  on  the  black  face  of  the 
house,  it  cast  a  peaceful  beam  of  light  into  the 
darkness  —  a  small  island  amid  black  and  heavy 
waters. 

"  That's  his  window,  Mironov's,"  said  Makla- 
kov quietly.  "  That's  the  way  he  sits  at  night  all 
by  himself  and  writes.     Come." 

Some  people  advanced  toward  them  singing 
softly: 

"  It  comes,  it  comes,  the  last  decisive  fight !  " 

"  We  ought  to  cross  to  the  other  side,"  Yevsey 
proposed  in  a  whisper.    . 

"Are  you  afraid?"  asked  Maklakov,  though 
he  was  the  first  to  step  from  the  pavement  to  cross 
the  frozen  dirt  of  the  middle  of  the  street.  "  No 
reason  to  be  afraid.  These  fellows  with  their 
songs  of  war  and  all  such  things  are  peaceful  peo- 
ple. The  wild  beasts  are  not  among  them,  no.  It 
would  be  good  to  sit  down  now  in  some  warm 


THE  SPY  329 

place,  in  a  cafe,  but  everything  is  closed,  every- 
thing is  suspended,  brother." 

"  Come  home,"  Klimkov  suggested. 

"  Home?  No  thank  you.  You  can  go  if  you 
want  to." 

Yevsey  remained,  submissively  yielding  to  the 
sad  expectation  of  something  inevitable.  From  the 
other  side  of  the  street  came  the  sound  of  the  peo- 
ple's talk. 

"  Misha,  is  it  possible  you  don't  believe?  "  one 
asked  in  a  ringing,  joyous  voice. 

A  soft  bass  answered: 

"  I  do  believe,  but  I  say  it  won't  happen  so 
soon." 

"  Listen !  What  the  devil  of  a  spy  are  you, 
eh  ? "  Maklakov  suddenly  demanded  nudging 
Yevsey  with  his  elbow.  "  I've  been  watching  you 
a  long  time.  Your  face  always  looks  as  if  you 
had  just  taken  an  emetic." 

Yevsey  grew  glad  at  the  possibility  of  speaking 
about  himself  openly. 

"  I  am  going  away,  Timofey  Vasilyevich,"  he 
quickly  mumbled.  "  Just  as  soon  as  everything  is 
arranged,  I  am  going  away.  I'll  gradually  settle 
myself  in  business,  and  I'm  going  to  live  quietly 
by  myself — " 

"  As  soon  as  what  is  arranged?  " 

"Why,  all  this  about  the  new  life.  When  the 
people  start  out  all  for  themselves." 


330  THE  SPY 

"  Eh,  eh,"  drawled  the  spy,  waving  his  hand 
and  smiling.  His  smile  robbed  Yevsey  of  the  de- 
sire to  speak  about  himself. 

They  walked  in  silence  again,  and  turned  again. 
Both  were  gloomy. 

"  There,  now,"  Maklakov  exclaimed  with  un- 
expected roughness  and  acerbity  as  they  once  more 
approached  the  author's  house.  "  I'm  really  go- 
ing away,  forever,  entirely  from  Russia.  Do  you 
understand?  And  I  must  hand  over  some  papers 
to  this  —  this  author.     You  see  this  package?  " 

He  waved  a  white  parcel  before  Yevsey's  face, 
and  continued  quickly,  in  a  low  growl.  "  I  won't 
go  to  him  myself.  This  is  the  second  day  I've 
been  on  the  watch  for  him,  waiting  for  him  to 
come  out.  But  he's  sick,  and  he  won't  come  out. 
I  would  have  given  it  to  him  in  the  street.  I  can't 
send  it  by  mail.  His  letters  are  opened  and  stolen 
in  the  Post  Office  and  given  over 'to  the  Depart- 
ment of  Safety.  And  it's  absolutely  impossible  for 
me  to  go  to  him  myself.     Do  you  understand?" 

The  spy  pressing  the  package  to  his  breast  bent 
his  head  to  look  into  Yevsey's  eyes. 

"  My  life  is  in  this  package.  I  have  written 
about  myself  —  my  story  —  who  I  am,  and  why. 
I  want  him  to  read  it  —  he  loves  people." 

Taking  Yevsey's  shoulder  in  a  vigorous  clutch 
the  spy  shook  him,  and  commanded : 

"  You  go  and  give  it  to  him,  into  his  own  hands 
—  go,  tell  him  that  one  — "  Maklakov  broke  off, 


THE  SPY  331 

and  continued  after  a  pause — "  tell  him  that  a 
certain  agent  of  the  Department  of  Safety  sent 
him  these  papers,  and  begs  him  most  humbly  — 
tell  him  that  way,  '  begs  him  most  humbly  '  to 
read  them.  I'll  wait  here  for  you,  on  the  street. 
Go.  But  look  out,  don't  tell  him  I'm  here.  If 
he  asks,  say  I've  escaped,  went  to  Argentine. 
Repeat  what  I've  told  you." 

"  Went  to  Argentine." 

"  And  don't  forget,  '  begs  most  humbly.'  " 

"  No,  I  won't." 

"  Go  on,  quick!  " 

Giving  Klimkov  a  gentle  shove  on  the  back  he 
escorted  him  to  the  door  of  the  house,  walked 
away,  and  stopped  to  observe  him. 

Yevsey  agitated  and  seized  with  a  fine  tremor, 
It^st  consciousness  of  his  own  personality  crushed 
by  the  commanding  words  of  Maklakov.  He 
pushed  the  electric  button,  and  felt  ready  to  crawl 
through  the  door  in  the  desire  to  hide  himself  from 
the  spy  as  quickly  as  possible.  He  struck  it  with, 
his  knee,  and  it  opened.  A  dark  figure  loomed  jpr 
the  light,  a  voice  asked  testily: 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"  The  writer,  Mr.  Mironov  —  him  personally. 
I  have  been  told  to  deliver  a  package  into  his  own 
hands.  Please,  quick!"  said  Yevsey,  involunta- 
rily imitating  the  rapid  and  incoherent  talk  of  Mak- 
lakov. Everything  became  confused  in  his  brain. 
But  the  words  of  the  spy  lay  there,  white  and 


332  THE  SPY 

cold  as  dead  bones.  And  when  a  somewhat  dull 
voice  reached  him,  "  What  can  I  do  for  you,  young 
man?"  Yevsey  said  in  an  apathetic  voice,  like 
an  automaton,  "  A  certain  agent  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  Safety  sent  you  these  papers,  and  begs  you 
most  humbly  to  read  them.  Pie  has  gone  off  to 
Argentine."  The  strange  name  embarrassed  Yev- 
sey, and  he  added  in  a  lower  voice,  "  Argentine, 
which  is  in  America." 

"  Yes,  but  where  are  the  papers?  " 

The  voice  sounded  kind.  Yevsey  raised  his 
head,  and  recognized  the  soldierly  face  with  the 
reddish  mustache.  He  pulled  the  package  from 
his  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"  Sit  down." 

Klimkov  seated  himself,  keeping  his  head  bowed. 
The  sound  of  the  tearing  of  the  wrapping  made 
him  start.  Without  raising  his  head,  he  looked 
at  the  writer  warily  from  under  lowered  lids. 
Mironov  stood  before  him  regarding  the  pack- 
age, his  mustache  quivering. 

"  You  say  he's  gone  off?  " 

"Yes."  ' 

"  And  you  yourself  are  also  an  agent?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Yevsey  quietly,  and  thought, 
"  Now,  he'll  scold  me." 

"  Your  face  seems  familiar  to  me." 

Yevsey  tried  not  to  look  at  him.  But  he  felt 
the  writer  was  smiling. 


THE  SPY  333 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  familiar  to  you,"  said 
Yevsey  sighing. 

"  Have  you,  too,  been  tracking  me?  " 

"  Once.  You  saw  me  from  the  window.  You 
came  out  into  the  street,  and  gave  me  a  letter." 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  remember.  The  devil !  So  that 
was  you?  Well,  excuse  me,  my  dear  man.  I 
think  I  must  have  offended  you,  eh?  " 

Yevsey  rose  from  the  chair,  looked  into  his 
laughing  face  incredulously,  and  glanced  around. 

"  That's  nothing,"  he  said. 

He  felt  unbearably  awkward  as  he  listened  to 
the  somewhat  rude  yet  kindly  voice.  He  was 
afraid  that  after  all  the  writer  would  abuse  him 
and  drive  him  out. 

11  There,  you  see  how  strangely  we  meet  this 
time,  eh?" 

"  Nothing  else?  "  asked  Yevsey  confused. 

u  Nothing  else.  But  I  believe  you  are  tired. 
Sit  down.     Rest." 

11  I  must  be  going." 

"  Very  well.  As  you  please.  Well,  thank  you. 
Good-by." 

He  extended  his  large  hand  with  reddish  wool 
on  the  fingers.     Yevsey  touched  it  cautiously. 

"  Permit  me  also  to  tell  you  my  life,"  he  re- 
quested unexpectedly  to  himself.  The  instant  he 
had  distinctly  uttered  these  words,  he  thought, 
"  This  is  the  very  man  to  whom  I  ought  to  speak, 


334  THE  SPY 

if  Timofey  Vasilyevich  himself,  such  a  wise  per- 
son and  better  than  everybody,  respects  him."  Re- 
calling Maklakov,  Yevsey  looked  at  the  window, 
and  for  a  moment  grew  anxious. 

"  No  matter,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It's  not 
the  first  time  he's  had  to  freeze." 

"Well,  why  not?  Tell  me,  if  you  want  to. 
Won't  you  take  off  your  overcoat?  And  perhaps 
you  will  have  a  glass  of  tea.     It's  cold." 

Yevsey  wanted  to  smile,  but  he  restrained  him- 
self. In  a  few  minutes,  his  eyes  half  closed,  he 
told  the  writer  monotonously  and  minutely  about 
the  village,  about  Yakov,  and  about  the  blacksmith. 
He  spoke  in  the  same  voice  in  which  he  reported 
his  observations  in  the  Department  of  Safety. 

The  writer,  whom  Yevsey  observed  from  under 
his  lashes,  was  sitting  on  a  broad,  heavy  taborette, 
his  elbows  on  the  table,  over  which  he  bent,  twirl- 
ing his  mustache  with  a  quick  movement  of  his 
fingers.  His  eyes  gazed  sharply  and  seriously  into 
the  distance  above  Klimkov's  head. 

"  He  doesn't  hear  me,"  thought  Yevsey,  and 
raised  his  voice  a  little,  continuing  to  examine  the 
room  without  himself  being  observed,  and  jeal- 
ously watching  the  face  of  the  author. 

The  room  was  dark  and  gloomy.  The  shelves 
crammed  with  books,  which  increased  the  thick- 
ness of  the  walls,  apparently  kept  out  the  sounds  of 
the  street.  Between  the  shelves  the  glass  of  the 
windows  glistened  dully,  pasted  over  with  the  cold 


THE  SPY  335 

darkness  of  the  night,  and  the  white  narrow  stain 
of  the  door  obtruded  itself  on  the  eye.  In  the 
middle  of  the  room  was  a  table,  whose  covering  of 
grey  cloth  seemed  to  lend  a  dark  grey  tone  to 
everything  around  it. 

Yevsey  was  ensconced  in  a  corner  of  a  chair  cov- 
ered with  a  smooth  skin.  For  some  reason  he 
propped  his  head  hard  against  its  high  back,  then 
slid  down  a  little.  The  flames  of  the  candles  dis- 
turbed him;  the  yellow  tongues  slowly  inclining 
toward  each  other,  seemed  to  be  holding  a  con- 
versation. They  trembled,  and  straightened 
themselves  out,  struggling  upward.  Back  of  the 
author  over  the  sofa,  hung  a  large  portrait,  from 
which  a  yellow  face  with  a  sharp  little  beard  looked 
out  sternly. 

The  author  began  to  twirl  his  mustache  more 
slowly,  but  his  look  as  before  travelled  beyond  the 
confines  of  the  room.  All  this  disturbed  Yevsey, 
breaking  the  thread  of  his  recollections.  He  be- 
thought himself  of  closing  his  eyes.  When  he  did 
so,  and  darkness  closely  enveloped  him,  he  sighed 
lightly.  Suddenly  he  beheld  himself  divided  in 
two  —  thejnaiiwho  had  lived,  and  the_other  being 
who  was  able  to  tell  about  the  first  as  about  a 
stranger.  His  speech  flowed  on  more  easily,  his 
voice  grew  stronger,  and  the  events  of  his  life  drew 
themselves  connectedly  one  after  the  other,  unroll- 
ing easily  like  a  ball  of  grey  thread.  They  fn 
the  little  feeble  soul  from  the  dirty  and  cumber- 


336  THE  SPY 

some  rags  of  its  experiences.  It  was  pleasant 
to  Yevsey  to  tell  about  himself.  He  listened  to 
his  own  voice  with  quiet  astonishment.  He  spoke 
truthfully,  and  clearly  saw  that  he  had  not  been 
guilty  of  anything,  for  he  had  lived  all  his  days 
not  as  he  had  wanted  to,  but  as  hehad  been  Com- 
pelled   tO    do;    and    hf>    haH    hern    rnnnpp1Vd_tnjjn 

what  was  unpleasant  and  unnecessary  to  him. 
|  Filled  with  a  sense  of  sincere  self-pity,  he  was 
■  almost  ready  to  weep  and  to  fall  in  love  with  him- 
self. 

Whenever  the  author  asked  him  a  question, 
which  Yevsey  did  not  understand,  he  would  say 
without  opening  his  eyes,  sternly  and  quietly : 

"  Wait,  I'm  telling  it  in  order." 

He  spoke  without  wearying,  but  when  he  came 
to  the  moment  of  his  meeting  with  Maklakov,  he 
suddenly  stopped  as  before  a  pit.  He  opened  his 
eyes,  and  saw  at  the  window  the  dull  look  of  the 
autumn  morning,  the  cold  grey  depth  of  the  sky. 
Heaving  a  deep  sigh,  he  straightened  himself  up. 
He  felt  washed  within,  unusually  light,  unpleas- 
\  antly  empty.  His  heart  was  ready  submissively 
to  receive  new  orders,  fresh  violence. 

The  author  rose  noisily  from  his  seat,  tall  and 
strong.  He  pressed  his  hands  together,  cracking 
his  fingers  disagreeably. 

11  What  do  you  think  of  doing  now?  "  he  asked, 
as  he  turned  to  the  window  without  looking  at 
Klimkov. 


THE  SPY  337 

Yevsey  also  rose,  and  repeated  with  assurance 
what  he  had  told  Maklakov. 

"  As  soon  as  the  new  life  is  arranged,  I'll 
quietly  go  into  some  business  —  I'll  go  to  another 
city  —  I've  saved  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  ru- 
bles." 

The  author  turned  to  him  slowly. 

"So?"  he  said.  "You  have  no  other  desire 
whatsoever?  " 

Klimkov  thought,  and  answered: 

"  No." 

"  And  you  believe  in  the  new  life?     You  think  * 
it  will  arrange  itself?  " 

"Of  course.  How  else?  If  all  the  people 
want  it.     Why  won't  it  arrange  itself?  " 

"  I'm  not  saying  anything." 

Mironov  keeping  silent  turned  to  the  window 
again,  and  straightened  out  his  mustache  with  both 
hands.  Yevsey  stood  motionless,  awaiting  some- 
thing and  listening  to  the  emptiness  in  his  breast. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  the  writer  softly  and  slowly, 
"  aren't  you  sorry  for  those  people,  that  girl,  your 
cousin,  and  his  comrade?  " 

Klimkov  bowed  his  head,  and  drew  the  skirts 
of  his  coat  together. 

"  You  found  out  that  they  were  right,  didn't 
you?" 

"  At  first  I  was  sorry  for  them.  I  must  have 
been  ashamed,  I  suppose.  But  now  I'm  not  sorry 
any  more," 


338  THE  SPY 

"No?     Why  not?" 

Klimkov  did  not  answer  at  once.  At  the  end 
of  a  few  moments  he  said : 

"  Well,  they  are  good  people,  and  they  attained 
to  what  they  wanted." 

"  And  didn't  it  occur  to  you  that  you  were  in  a 
bad  business?  " 

Yevsey  sighed. 

"  Why,  I  don't  like  it.  I  do  what  I'm  told  to 
do." 

The  author  stepped  up  to  him,  then  turned  aside. 
Klimkov  saw  the  door  through  which  he  had  en- 
tered, saw  it  because  the  author's  glance  was  turned 
to  it. 

44  I  ought  to  go,"  he  thought. 

"  Do  you  want  to  ask  me  anything?  "  inquired 
the  author. 

11  No,  I  am  going." 

"  Good-by."  And  the  host  moved  to  let  him 
pass.  Yevsey  walking  on  tip-toe  went  into  the  ante- 
chamber, where  he  began  to  put  on  his  overcoat. 
From  the  door  of  the  room  he  heard  a  question: 

14  Listen,  why  did  you  tell  me  about  yourself?  " 

Squeezing  his  hat  in  his  hands  Yevsey  thought, 
and  answered: 

44  Just  so.  Timofey  Vasilyevich  respects  you 
very  much,  the  one  who  sent  me." 

The  writer  smiled. 

"Aha!     Is  that  all?" 

44  Why  did  I  tell  him?  "  Klimkov  suddenly  won- 


THE  SPY  339 

dered.  Blinking  his  eyes,  he  looked  fixedly  into 
the  author's  face. 

"Well,  good-by,"  said  the  host,  rubbing  his 
hands.     He  moved  away  from  his  visitor. 

Yevsey  nodded  to  him  politely. 

"  Good-by." 

When  he  came  out  of  the  house,  he  looked 
around,  and  immediately  observed  the  black  figure 
of  a  man  at  the  end  of  the  street  in  the  grey  twi- 
light of  the  morning.  The  man  was  quietly  strid- 
ing along  the  pavement  holding  his  head  bent. 

"  He's  waiting,"  Klimkov  thought.  He  shrank 
back.  "  He'll  scold  me.  He'll  say  it  was  too 
long." 

The  spy  must  have  heard  the  resonant  sound 
of  steps  on  the  frozen  paving  in  the  stillness  of 
the  morning.  He  raised  his  head,  and  fairly  ran 
to  meet  Yevsey. 

"  Did  you  give  it  to  him?     Yes?  " 

"  I  did." 

"Why  were  you  so  long?  Did  he  speak  to 
you?   'What  did  he  ask?" 

Maklakov  shivered.  His  cheeks  were  blue,  his 
nose  red.  He  seized  the  lapels  of  Yevsey's  over- 
coat, and  instantly  released  him,  blew  on  his  fin- 
gers, as  if  he  had  burned  them,  and  began  to  tramp 
his  feet  on  the  ground.  Thus,  chilled  through  and 
through,  and  pitiful,  he  was  not  awe-inspiring. 

"  I,  too,  told  him  all  my  life,"  Yevsey  declared 
aloud.     It  was  pleasant  to  tell  Maklakov  about  it. 


340  THE  SPY 

"  Well,  didn't  he  ask  about  me?  " 

"  He  asked  whether  you  had  gone  away." 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"  I  said  you  had." 

"Yes.     Nothing  else?" 
;      "  Nothing." 

"Well,  let's  go.  I'm  frozen,  brother.  Mak- 
lakov  darted  forward,  thrusting  his  hands  in  his 
overcoat  pockets,  and  hunching  his  back.  "  So 
you  told  him  your  life?  " 

"  The  whole  of  it,  completely,  to  the  very  mo- 
ment of  my  last-  meeting  with  you,"  answered 
Yevsey,  again  experiencing  a  pleasant  sensation, 
which  raised  him  to  the  same  level  as  the  spy  whom 
he  respected. 

"  What  did  he  say  to  you  then?  " 

For  some  reason  confused  and  embarrassed 
Klimkov  waited  before  he  replied. 

"  He  didn't  say  anything." 

Maklakov  stopped,  seized  him  by  the  sleeve,  and 
asked  in  a  stern  though  quiet  tone : 

"  Did  you  give  him  my  papers?  " 

"  Search  me,  Timofey  Vasilyevich,"  Yevsey 
cried  sincerely. 

"  I  won't,"  said  Maklakov,  after  reflecting. 
"  Well,  now  good-by.  I'll  disappear  this  very 
day.  Take  my  advice.  I'm  giving  it,  because  I 
pity  you.  Get  out  of  this  service  and  be  quick 
about  it.  It's  not  for  you,  you  know  it  yourself. 
Go  away  now.     Now  is  the  time  to  leave.     You 


THE  SPY  341 

see  what  days  these  are.  The  dead  are  coming  to 
life,  people  trust  one  another,  they  can  forgive 
much  in  a  period  like  this;  they  can  forgive  every- 
thing, I  think.  And  above  all,  avoid  Sasha. 
He's  sick  and  insane.  He's  made  you  deliver  up 
your  cousin,  he  —  he  ought  to  be  killed,  like  a 
mangy  dog.  Well,  good-by,  brother."  He 
seized  Yevsey's  hand  in  his  cold  fingers,  and  pressed 
it  firmly.  "So  you  gave  him  my  papers?"  he 
asked  once  more.     "  You're  sure  of  it,  are  you?  " 

"  I  did  —  by  God !  The  moment  I  caught  sight 
of  him  I  at  once  remembered  him." 

11  All  right.  I  believe  you.  Don't  speak  about 
me  there  for  a  few  days,  I  beg  you." 

"  I'm  not  going  there.  On  the  twentieth  I'll 
call  for  my  salary." 

"  Tell  them  then.  By  that  time  I'll  be  far  away. 
Good-by." 

He  turned  the  corner  quickly.  Yevsey  looked 
after  him,  thinking  suspiciously: 

"  He's  going  off.  Probably  he  did  something 
against  the  authorities,  and  got  frightened.  How 
he  looks,  just  as  if  he  had  gotten  a  beating." 

He  grew  sorry  for  himself  at  the  thought  that 
he  would  never  again  see  Maklakov.  Neverthe- 
less, it  was  agreeable  to  recall  how  weak,  chilled 
through,  and  troubled  the  spy  had  looked,  the  spy 
who  had  always  borne  himself  so  calmly  and 
firmly. 

M  He  spoke  boldly  even  with  the  officers  of  the 


342  THE  SPY 

Department  of  Safety,  spoke  to  them  as  if  He  were 
their  equal.  But  apparently  he  was  all  the  time 
afraid  of  the  author  who  was  under  surveillance. 
And  here  am  I,  a  little  man,"  thought  Yevsey,  as 
he  strode  down  the  street,  "  a  little  man,  afraid  of 
everybody,  yet  the  author  didn't  frighten  me.  I 
was  drinking  tea  at  his  house,  while  Maklakov  was 
shivering  on  the  street."  Klimkov  content  with 
himself  smiled.  "  He  couldn't  say  anything,  the 
author  couldn't."  Yevsey  was  suddenly  seized 
with  a  mingled  feeling  of  sadness  and  insult.  He 
slackened  his  pace,  and  sank  into  reflections  as  to 
why  this  was.  He  sought  the  cause  of  the  grief 
that  unexpectedly  rose  within  him. 

"  Why  did  I  speak  to  him?  "  he  thought  again 
on  the  way.  "  Instead,  I  should  have  told  it  that 
time  to  Olga." 

The  city  awoke,  and  Yevsey  wanted  to  sleep. 
He  felt  uneasiness,  discomfort  in  his  breast  again. 
His  heart  was  like  a  little  room  from  which  all 
the  furniture  has  been  removed,  and  which  is  left 
bare  and  empty,  with  green  stains  of  dampness  on 
the  torn  wall-paper,  showing  the  dumb  patterns 
made  by  the  chinks  in  the  plastering. 

He  wanted  to  sleep,  but  it  was  pleasant  to  stroll 
the  streets,  and  he  walked  homeward  with  reluc- 
tant steps. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  BOUT  midday  Yevsey  was  awakened  by  Vie- 
kov  dressed  in  an  overcoat  and  hat.  He 
looked  downcast.  He  shook  the  back  of  the  bed, 
and  said  in  a  muffled  voice,  monotonously: 

"  Hey,  Klimkov,  get  up.  They  are  summon- 
ing everybody  to  the  office.  Hey,  Klimkov  — 
they  have  proclaimed  the  constitution.  They  are 
summoning  all  the  agents  from  their  lodgings. 
Filip  Filippovich  gave  the  order.  Do  you  hear, 
Klimkov?" 

His  words  fell  like  large  drops  of  rain,  full  of 
sadness.  His  face  was  drawn,  as  with  the  tooth- 
ache. His  eyes  blinked  frequently,  as  if  he  were 
about  to  cry. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Yevsey  jumping  from 
bed. 

Viekov  pursed  his  lips  dismally. 

11  Is  it  possible  to  understand?  They  said  yes- 
terday the  Czar  would  give  a  full  constitution,  and 
to-day  here's  the  manifesto,  he's  actually  giving  it. 
Our  Department  has  become  like  an  insane  asylum 
—  that  Sasha  is  such  a  coarse  creature,  astonish- 
ing. He  keeps  shouting,  '  Strike,  slash,'  and  so 
forth.  Why,  look  here,  I  wouldn't  make  up  my 
mind  to  kill  a  man  even  for  five  hundred  rubles. 

343 


344  THE  SPY 

Yet  he  proposes  we  should  kill  for  forty  rubles  a 
month.  Why,  it's  savagery  even  to  listen  to  such 
talk."  Viekov  puffed  his  cheeks,  and  sighed  in 
weariness  of  spirit,  as  he  paced  up  and  down  the 
room.     "  It's  horrible.     Dress  quickly.     We  must 

go." 

Pulling  on  his  trousers  Klimkov  asked  musingly : 

"  Whom  do  they  want  us  to  kill?  " 

"  The  revolutionists.  Although  what  revolu- 
tionists are  there  now?  According  to  the  Czar's 
ukase,  you'd  suppose  the  revolution  was  ended. 
They  tell  us  we  should  gather  the  people  in  the 
streets,  march  with  flags,  and  sing,  '  God  Save  the 
Czar.'  Well,  why  not  sing,  if  liberty  has  been 
granted  ?  But  then  they  say  that  while  doing  this, 
we  should  shout  '  Down  with  the  constitution,'  and 
so  forth.  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  understand. 
That's  going  against  the  manifesto  and  the  will 
of  the  Czar  Emperor.  There  are  many  besides 
me  who  don't  understand  it.  I'm  not  the  only 
one." 

His  voice  sounded  protesting,  insulted,  his  legs 
clapped  together.  He  seemed  as  soft  as  if  his 
bones  had  been  removed  from  his  body. 

"  I'm  not  going  there,"  said  Klimkov. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Just  so-.  First  I'll  walk  the  streets,  and  see 
what  they're  going  to  do." 

Viekov  sighed  again,  and  whistled. 

"  Yes,  of  course.     You're  a  single  man.     But 


THE  SPY  345 

when  you  have  a  family,  that  is,  a  woman  who 
demands  this,  that,  the  fifth  thing,  and  the  tenth 
thing,  then  you'll  go  where  you  don't  want  to,  yes, 
you  will.  The  need  for  a  living  compels  a  man  to 
dance  a  tightrope.  When  I  see  tricks  on  a  tight- 
rope, my  head  begins  to  turn,  and  I  feel  a  pain 
in  the  lower  part  of  my  chest.  But  I  think  to 
myself,  *  If  it  would  be  necessary  for  your  liveli- 
hood, then  you,  too,  Ivan  Petrovich  Viekov,  would 
dance  a  tightrope.'  Yes,  indeed.  A  poor  man 
must  live  by  doing  things  that  wring  his  heart,  and 
whether  he  wants  to  or  not.  Such  is  the  law  of 
nature,  as  Grokhotov  says." 

Viekov  tossed  himself  about  the  room,  knocking 
against  the  table  and  the  chairs,  mumbling  and 
swelling  his  rosy  cheeks.  His  little  face  was  puffed 
like  a  bladder.  His  insignificant  eyes  disappeared, 
and  the  little  red  nose  hid  itself  between  his  cheeks. 
His  sorrowful  voice,  his  dejected  figure,  his  hope- 
less words  annoyed  Klimkov,  who  said  unamiably : 

"  Soon  everything  will  be  arranged  differently. 
So  there's  no  use  complaining  now." 

"  But  in  our  place  they  don't  want  a  different 
arrangement,"  exclaimed  Viekov,  gesticulating, 
and  stopping  in  front  of  Yevsey.  u  You  under- 
stand?" 

Yevsey  disturbed  turned  on  the  chair,  desiring  to 
express  a  thought  in  his  mind,  but  he  was  unable 
to  find  words,  and  began  to  lace  his  shoes  sniffling. 

"  Sasha  shouts,  '  Beat  them.     Show  them  what 


346  THE  SPY 

liberty  is.  So  that  they  may,'  he  says,  *  get 
afraid  of  it.'  Viakhirev  displays  revolvers.  '  I'll 
shoot/  he  says,  '  straight  into  the  eyes.'  Krasavin 
is  gathering  a  gang  of  some  sort  of  people,  and 
also  speaks  about  knives,  and  hacking  people  down, 
and  all  such  things.  Chasin  is  preparing  to  kill  a 
certain  student,  because  he  took  his  mistress  from 
him.  Some  other  new  fellow  has  come.  He's 
one-eyed,  and  smiles  all  over,  and  his  teeth  are 
knocked  out  in  front.  A  very  terrible  face.  Sheer 
savagery,  all  this." 

Viekov  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  and  said 
mysteriously, 

"  Everyone  ought  to  protect  his  means  of  a  live- 
lihood. That's  understood  —  but  preferably  with- 
out murder.  Because  if  we  start  to  kill,  then  we 
in  turn  will  be  killed,  too." 

Viekov  shuddered.  He  turned  his  head  toward 
the  window,  and  listened  to  something.  Then  he 
raised  his  hand,  and  his  face  turned  pale. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Yevsey. 

A  resonant  noise  hit  against  the  windows  in  soft 
uneven  blows,  as  if  to  open  them  cautiously  and 
pour  itself  into  the  room.  Yevsey  rose  to  his  feet 
with  a  look  of  inquiry  and  alarm  at  Viekov;  while 
Viekov  standing  at  some  distance  from  the  window 
stretched  his  hand  out  in  order  to  open  it,  appar- 
ently taking  care  not  to  be  seen  from  the  street. 
At  the  same  moment  a  broad  stream  of  sounds 
broke  in,  surrounded  the  spies,  pushed  against  the 


THE  SPY  347 

door,  opened  it,  and  floated  into  the  corridor, 
powerful,  exulting,  sturdy. 

"  They  are  rejoicing,"  said  Viekov  quietly,  start- 
ing. 

"  Look  out  and  see  what  it  is,"  said  Yevsey,  hur- 
riedly throwing  an  overcoat  on. 

But  Viekov  was  already  looking  out,  and  he  be- 
gan to  report  what  he  saw,  every  minute  quickly 
turning  his  head  from  the  window  to  Yevsey.  He 
spoke  rapidly  and  brokenly. 

"  The  people  are  marching  —  red  flags  —  a 
great  many  people  —  countless  —  of  various  sta- 
tions —  all  mixed  up  in  one  crowd  —  an  officer 
even  —  and  Father  Uspensky  —  without  hats  — 
Melnikov  with  a  flag  —  our  Melnikov  —  look !  " 

Yevsey  ran  to  the  casement,  looked  down,  and 
there  saw  a  thick  mass  of  people  filling  the  entire 
street.  In  his  eyes  gleamed  a  compact  mass  of 
faces,  which  shone  like  the  stars  in  the  Milky  Way. 
Over  the  heads  of  the  throng  waved  flags  re- 
sembling red  birds.  Klimkov  was  deafened  by  the 
seething  noise.  In  the  first  row  he  saw  the  tall, 
bearded  figure  of  Melnikov,  who  held  the  short 
pole  of  the  standard  in  both  hands,  and  waved  it. 
At  times  the  cloth  of  the  flag  enveloped  his  head 
like  a  red  turban.  From  under  his  hat  escaped 
dark  strands  of  hair,  which  fell  on  his  forehead 
and  cheeks,  and  mingled  with  his  beard.  He  was 
shaggy  as  a  beast.  Evidently  he  was  shouting,  for 
his  mouth  stood  wide  open. 


348  THE  SPY 

"Where  are  they  going?"  mumbled  Klimkov, 
turning  to  his  comrade. 

"  They  are  rejoicing,"  Viekov  repeated,  and 
looked  out  into  the  street,  leaning  his  forehead 
against  the  glass. 

Both  men  were  silent,  attentively  watching  the 
motley  stream  of  people.  With  acute  hearing  they 
caught  the  loud  splashings  of  different  exclama- 
tions in  the  deep  sea  of  the  din. 

Viekov  shook  his  head. 

14  What  a  power,  eh  ?  The  people  lived  each 
by  himself  and  now  suddenly  they  all  move  to- 
gether —  what  a  phenomenon !  " 

14  They've  grown  wise,  it  means.  They  are  be- 
coming masters  of  life,"  said  Yevsey  with  a  smile. 
At  that  moment  he  actually  believed  so. 

"  And  our  Melnikov,  did  you  see  him?  " 

14  He  always  stood  up  for  the  people,"  Yevsey 
explained  didactically.  He  left  the  window,  feel- 
ing himself  near  his  aim,  bold  and  new. 

"  Now  everything  will  go  well.  No  one  wants 
another  to  order  him  about.  Everyone  wants  to 
live  according  to  his  needs,  quietly,  peacefully,  with 
things  arranged  in  a  good  system,"  he  said  gravely, 
examining  his  sharp  face  in  the  mirror.  He  liked 
his  face  to-day.  It  was  calm,  almost  cheerful. 
Wishing  to  strengthen  the  new  and  pleasant  feeling 
of  satisfaction  with  himself,  he  reflected  on  how 
he  might  raise  himself  in  the  eyes  of  his  comrade. 
So  he  announced  with  an  air  of  mystery,  4<  Do 


THE  SPY  349 

you  know,  Maklakov  has  escaped  to  America  ?  " 

"  So?  "  the  spy  rejoined  indifferently.  "  What 
of  it?     He's  a  single  man." 

"  Why  did  I  tell  him?  "  Yevsey  reproached  him- 
self. A  feeling  of  slight  alarm  and  enmity  came 
over  him. 

"  Don't  speak  of  this  to  anybody,  please,"  he 
begged  Viekov. 

"  About  Maklakov  ?  Very  well  —  I  have  to  go 
to  the  office.     Aren't  you  going?  " 

"  No,  but  we  can  go.  out  together." 

On  the  street  Viekov  remarked  in  dismal  irri- 
tation, speaking  in  a  subdued  voice: 

"  Stupid  people,  after  all.  They  ought  not  to 
be  going  about  with  flags  and  songs.  Now  they 
have  once  begun  to  feel  themselves  in  power  they 
ought  to  ask  the  authorities  straightway  to  abolish 
all  sorts  of  politics,  to  transform  everybody  into 
people,  both  us  and  the  revolutionists,  to  distribute 
awards  to  whom  they  are  due,  both  on  our  side 
and  theirs,  and  to  make  a  strict  announcement,  'All 
politics  strictly  prohibited.'  We've  had  enough  of 
hide  and  seekl  " 

Viekov  suddenly  disappeared  around  the  corner 
without  taking  leave  of  Klimkov.  Yevsey  walked 
like  a  man  who  to-day  has  no  reason  to  hasten. 

"  I  have  one  hundred  and  fifty  rubles,"  he 
thought.  "  I  have  an  inclination  for  business,  and 
I  know  about  it  to  some  extent.  In  business  a  man 
is  free.     Soon  I'll  receive  twenty-five  rubles  more." 


3SO 


THE  SPY 


The  people  moved  about  in  the  street  excitedly, 
all  spoke  loud,  all  faces  smiled  joyously,  and  the 
gloomy  autumn  evening  recalled  a  bright  Easter 
day.  Songs  started  up,  now  nearby,  now  at  the 
end  of  the  street  curtained  by  a  grey  cloud.  Loud 
shouts  quenched  the  singing. 

"  Long  live  liberty !  " 

From  everywhere  came  laughter  and  the  sound 
of  kindly  voices.  This  pleased  Klimkov.  He  po- 
litely stepped  aside  for  those  who  came  his  way, 
looking  at  them  approvingly  with  a  light  smile 
of  satisfaction,  and  continued  to  picture  his  future 
in  warm  colors. 

Two  people  darted  from  around  the  corner, 
laughing  quietly.  One  of  them  jostled  Yevsey, 
but  immediately  pulled  off  his  hat,  and  exclaimed: 

11  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  answered  Klimkov  affably. 

Before  Yevsey  stood  Grokhotov,  cleanly  shaven, 
looking  as  if  he  had  been  smeared  with  ointment. 
He  beamed  all  over,  and  his  small  soft  eyes  f rol- 
licked, running  from  side  to  side. 

11  Well,  Yevsey,  I  nearly  got  myself  into  a  mess. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  my  talent  —  are  you  ac- 
quainted? This  is  Panteleyev,  one  of  our  men." 
Grokhotov  lost  his  breath,  and  spoke  in  a  quick 
whisper,  hurriedly  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  face. 
"  You  know  I  was  walking  along  the  Boulevard, 
when  I  saw  a  crowd,  with  an  orator  in  the  center. 
Well,  I  went  up,  and  listened.     He  spoke  so  — 


THE  SPY  351 

you  know  —  without  any  restraint  at  all.  So  I 
thought  I'd  ask  who  that  wise  fellow  was.  I  in- 
quired of  the  man  standing  next  to  me.  *  His  face 
is  familiar  to  me,'  says  I.  *  Do  you  know  his 
name  ?  '  *  His  name  is  Zimin.'  The  words  were 
scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when  two  fellows  grabbed 
hold  of  me  under  my  arm.  '  People,  he's  a  spy !  ' 
I  couldn't  get  in  a  word  before  I  found  myself 
in  the  middle  of  the  crowd,  and  such  a  press  around 
me  —  and  everybody's  eyes  like  awls.  *  I'm  done 
for,'  thinks  I." 

"Zimin?"  asked  Yevsey,  disturbed,  looking 
back  of  him  and  beginning  to  walk  more  rapidly. 

Grokhotov  raised  his  head  to  the  sky,  crossed 
himself,  and  continued  still  more  hurriedly. 

"  Well,  the  Lord  inspired  me  with  an  idea.  I 
recovered  my  presence  of  mind  at  once,  and  shouted 
out,  '  People,  it's  a  mistake,  absolutely.  I'm  no 
spy,  but  a  well-known  mimic  of  celebrated  per- 
sonages and  of  animal  sounds.  Wouldn't  you 
please  give  me  a  trial?  The  men  who  had  seized 
me  shouted,  *  No,  he  lies ;  we  know  him !  '  But 
I  had  already  made  a  face  like  the  Chief  of  Police, 
and  called  out  in  his  voice,  *  Who  gave  you  per-r-r- 
mission  to  hold  this  meeting?  '  And  Lord !  I  hear 
them  laughing  already.  Well,  then  I  began,  I  tell 
you,  to  imitate  everything  I  know  —  the  governor, 
the  Archpresbyter  Izverzhensky,  a  saw,  a  little  pig, 
a  fly.  They  roared  with  laughter.  They  roared 
so  that  the  earth  trembled  under  my  feet,  so  help 


352  THE  SPY      ' 

me  God.  Even  the  men  holding  me  had  to  laugh 
—  a  curse  on  them !  —  and  let  me  go.  They  be- 
gan to  clap  and  applaud.  Upon  my  word,  here  is 
Pantaleyev,  he  can  testify,  he  saw  everything." 

"  True,"  said  Pantaleyev  in  a  hoarse  voice.  He 
was  a  dumpy  person  with  eye-glasses,  and  wore  a 
sleeveless  jacket. 

"  Yes,  brother,-  they  applauded,"  exclaimed 
Grokhotov  in  ecstasy.  "  Now,  of  course,  I  know 
myself;  an  artist,  that's  me.  No  doubt  of  it  now. 
I  may  say  I  owe  my  life  to  my  art.  What  else? 
It's  very  simple.  A  crowd  can't  be  taken  in  by  a 
mere  joke." 

"  The  people  have  begun  to  be  trusting,"  re- 
marked Pantaleyev  pensively  and  strangely. 
"  Their  hearts  have  greatly  softened." 

"That's  true.  See  what  they're  doing,  eh?" 
Grokhotov  exclaimed  quietly.  Then  he  added  in 
a  whisper.  "  Everything  is  above-board  now. 
Everywhere  the  persons  under  surveillance,  our  old 
acquaintances,  are  in  the  very  first  rank.  What 
does  it  mean,  eh?  " 

"Is  the  joiner's  name  Zimin?"  Yevsey  asked 
again. 

"  Matvey  Zimin,  case  of  propaganda  work  in 
the  furniture  factory  of  Knop,"  replied  Pantaleyev 
with  stern  emphasis. 

"  He  ought  to  be  in  prison,"  said  Yevsey,  dis- 
satisfied. 

Grokhotov  whistled  merrily. 


THE  SPY  353 

"In  prison?  Don't  you  know  they  let  every- 
body out  of  prison?" 

"Who?" 

"  The  people." 

Yevsey  walked  a  few  steps  in  silence. 

"  Did  they  permit  them?  " 

"  Why,  yes." 

"Why  did  they  do  it?" 

"  That's  what  I  say,  too.  They  oughtn't  to 
have  permitted  them,"  said  Pantaleyev.  His 
glasses  moved  on  his  broad  nose.  "  What  a  sit- 
uation! The  authorities  do  not  think  about  the 
people  at  all." 

"Did  they  release  everybody?"  asked  Klim- 
kov. 

"  Everybody."  Pantaleyev's  hoarse  voice  was 
stern,  his  nostrils  dilated.  "  And  there  have  al- 
ready been  a  number  of  unpleasant  encounters. 
Chasin,  for  instance,  had  to  threaten  to  shoot  off 
his  revolver,  because  he  was  hit  in  the  eye.  He 
was  quietly  standing  off  on  one  side,  when  suddenly 
a  lady  comes  up,  and  cries  out,  *  Here's  a  spy !  ' 
Inasmuch  as  Chasin  cannot  imitate  animals,  he  had 
to  defend  himself  with  a  weapon;  which  isn't  pos- 
sible for  everybody  either.  Not  everybody  carries 
a  revolver  about  with  him." 

"  It's  been  decided  to  give  all  of  us  revolvers." 

"  Even  so  no  good  will  come  of  it.  I  know 
positively  that  a  revolver  begs  of  itself  to  be  used. 
It  sets  your  hand  itching." 


354  THE  SPY 

"  Good-by,"  said  Yevsey.  "  I'm  going  home." 
\  He  walked  through  small  by-streets.  When  he 
\  saw  people  coming  his  way,  he  crossed  to  the  other 
I  side,  and  tried  to  hide  in  the  shade.  ^  The  premoni- 
tion rose  and  stubbornly  grew  that  he  would  meet 
Yakov,  Olga,  or  somebody  else  of  that  company. 

"  The  city  is  large,  there  are  many  people," 
he  comforted  himself.  Nevertheless  each  time  he 
heard  steps  in  front,  his  heart  sank  painfully,  and 
his  legs  trembled,  losing  their  strength. 

"  They  let  them  go,"  he  thought  in  dismal  an- 
noyance. "  They  didn't  say  anything,  and  let  them 
go.  And  how  about  me?  It  isn't  a  matter  of 
indifference  to  me  where  they  are.  Of  course 
not!" 

It  was  already  dark.  A  solitary  lamp  was 
burning  in  front  of  the  gates  of  the  police  station. 
Just  as  Yevsey  approached  it,  he  heard  someone 
say  in  a  muffled  voice : 

"Here,  this  way,  then  to  the  back  courtyard." 

Yevsey  stopped,  and  peered  in  alarm  into  the 
darkness.  The  gates  were  closed,  but  a  dark  man 
stood  at  the  wicket  set  in  one  of  the  heavy  swing- 
ing doors,  apparently  awaiting  him. 

11  Hurry !  "  The  man  commanded  in  a  dissat- 
isfied tone. 

Klimkov  stopped,  crept  through  the  wicket,  and 
went  along  the  dark  vaulted  corridor  under  the 
building  to  a  light  feebly  flickering,  in  the  depths 
of  the  court,  where  he  heard  the  scraping  of  feet 


THE  SPY  355, 

on  the  stone,  subdued  voices,  and  the  familiar  re- 
pulsive snuffling.  Klimkov  stopped,  listened, 
turned  quietly,  and  walked  back  to  the  gate,  raising 
his  shoulders,  so  as  to  conceal  his  face  in  the  collar 
of  his  overcoat.  He  had  already  reached  the 
wicket,  and  was  about  to  push  it,  when  it  opened 
of  itself,  and  a  man  darted  through,  stumbling  and 
clutching  at  Yevsey. 

"The  devil!     Who's  that?" 

II    T   >) 

"Who?" 

"  Yevsey  Klimkov." 

"  Aha !  Well,  show  me  the  way.  Why  are 
you  standing  there?     Don't  you  recognize  me?" 

Yevsey  looked  at  the  hooked  nose,  the  curls 
behind  the  ears,  the  protruding  narrow  forehead. 

"  I  do.     Viakhirev,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 

"  Yes.     Come  on." 

Klimkov  returned  in  silence  to  the  courtyard, 
where  his  eyes  now  distinguished  many  obscure 
figures  looming  in  the  darkness  in  uneven  hillocks, 
slowly  shifting  from  place  to  place,  like  large  black 
fish  in  dark,  cold  water.  The  satiated  voice  of 
Solovyov  resounded  sweetishly : 

"  That  doesn't  suit  me.  But  catch  a  girl  for 
me,  a  little  girl,  a  dainty  little  girl.  I'll  knout 
her  for  you." 

"  Always  joking,  the  old  devil,"  mumbled  Viak- 
hirev.    "  A  fitting  time  for  it." 

"  I  can't  give  beatings,  but  I  like  to  give  lash- 


V 


356  THE  SPY 

ings.  I  remember  how  I  used  to  flog  my  nephew, 
gee!" 

From  a  corner  flowed  the  voice  of  Sasha,  falling 
incessantly  like  water  dripping  from  roofs  on  a 
rainy  day,  monotonous  as  the  sound  of  chants 
recited  in  church. 

"  Every  time  you  meet  those  fellows  with  red 
flags  beat  them.  First  beat  the  men  carrying  the 
flags,  the  rest  will  take  to  flight." 

"And  if  they  don't?" 

"  You  will  have  revolvers.  So  that  if  you  see 
people  known  to  you  by  their  participation  in  secret 
societies  —  those  people  upon  whom  you  spied  in 
your  time  —  who  were  released  from  the  prisons 
to-day  by  the  insubordination  of  the  unbridled 
mob  —  kill  them  outright !  " 

"  That's  reasonable,"  said  somebody,  whose 
voice  resembled  Pantaleyev's.  "  Either  we,  or 
they." 

"  Of  course.     How  else?  " 

"  The  people  have  gotten  their  liberty,  but  what 
are  we  to  do?"  replied  Viakhirev  sharply. 

Yevsey  walked  into  a  corner,  where  he  leaned 
against  a  pile  of  wood,  and  looked  and  listened  in 
perplexity. 

"  A  body,  a  little  body,  a  tiny,  wee  little  calf, 
meat!"  the  senseless  words  of  Solovyov  spread 
out  like  a  thick,  oily  spot. 

Dark,  heavy  walls  of  unequal  height  sur- 
rounded   the    court    sternly.     Overhead    slowly 


THE  SPY 


357 


floated  the  clouds.  On  the  walls  gleamed  the 
square  windows,  scattered  and  dim.  Klimkov  saw 
a  low  porch  in  one  corner  of  the  court,  upon  which 
Sasha  was  standing,  his  overcoat  buttoned  to  the 
top,  his  collar  raised,  and  a  low  cap  thrust  on  the 
back  of  his  head.  Above  him  swung  a  small  lamp, 
whose  feeble  flame  trembled  and  smoked,  as  if 
endeavoring  to  consume  itself  as  quickly  as  possi- 
ble. Behind  Sasha's  back  was  the  black  stain  of 
the  door.  A  few  dark  people  sat  on  the  steps 
of  the  porch  at  his  feet.  One,  a  tall  grey  person, 
stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  You  must  understand  that  you  are  given  the 
liberty  to  make  war  upon  the  revolutionists,"  said 
Sasha,  putting  his  hands  behind  his  back. 

The  air  hummed  with  the  scraping  of  soles  on 
the  flagging,  with  dry  metallic  raps,  and,  at  times, 
with  subdued  voices  uttering  exclamations  and  offi- 
cious advice. 

"  Look  out !     Be  more  careful !  " 
"  We're  not  allowed  to  load  the  revolvers." 
The    vaguely    outlined    figures    in    the     dark 
strangely  resembled  one  another  —  quiet  black  peo-f 
pie  scattered  over  the  yard.     They  stood  in  com-' 
pact  groups,   and  listened  to  the  viscid  voice  of 
Sasha,  rocking  and  swinging  on  their  feet,  as  if 
swayed  by  powerful  puffs  of  wind.     Sasha's  talk 
drowned  all  sounds,  filling  Klimkov's  breast  with 
a  dreary  cold  and  acute  hatred  of  the  spy. 

14  You  are  given  the  right  to  proceed  against  the 


358  THE  SPY 

rebels  in  an  open  fight.  Upon  you  lies  the  duty  to 
defend  the  deceived  Czar  with  all  possible  means. 
And  know  that  generous  rewards  await  you.  Who 
has  not  yet  received  a  revolver?     Come  up  here." 

Several  muffled  voices  called  out: 

«I_me_  I." 

Some  persons  moved  to  the  porch.  Sasha 
stepped  aside,  and  the  grey  man  squatted  down  on 
his  heels. 

"Mayn't  I  have  two?"  asked  a  lugubrious 
voice. 

"What  for?" 

"  For  a  comrade." 

"Go  'long!" 

The  voices  of  the  spies  whom  Yevsey  knew 
sounded  louder,  braver,  and  jollier  than  before. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  do  any  beating." 

"  We've  heard  that,"  the  hoarse  voice  of  Pan- 
taleyev  sounded  rudely. 
• "  Silence !  " 

Someone  smacking  his  lips  greedily,  complained : 

"  I  haven't  enough  cartridge.  We  ought  to  get 
a  whole  boxful." 

"  I  set  things  going  in  two  station-houses  to-day," 
said  Sasha.       "  I'm  tired." 

"  It'll  be  interesting  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  yes." 

The  words  and  the  sounds  flashed  up  before 
Yevsey's  mind  like  large  sparks  illuminating  the 
morrow.     They  slowly  dried  up  and  consumed  the 


THE  SPY  359 

hope  of  a  placid  life  soon  to  come.  He  felt  with 
his  whole  being  that  out  of  the  darkness  surround- 
ing him,  from  these  people  about  him,  advanced  a 
power  inimical  to  his  dreams  and  aims.  This 
power  would  seize  him  again,  would  put  him  on  the 
old  road,  would  bring  him  back  to  the  old  terror. 
Hatred  of  Sasha  seethed  in  his  heart,  the  live, 
tenacious,  yet  pliant  hatred  of  the  weak,  the  im- 
placable, sharp,  revengeful  feeling  of  a  slave  who 
has  once  been  tortured  by  hope  for  liberty.  He 
stood  there  thinking  of  nothing,  in  the  quick  reali- 
zation that  his  hopes  must  inevitably  die.  He 
looked  at  Sasha  half  closing  his  eyes,  and  strained 
his  ears  to  catch  the  spy's  every  word. 

The  men  hurriedly  departed  from  the  yard  in 
twos  and  threes,  disappearing  under  the  broad  arch- 
way that  yawned  in  the  wall.  The  light  over  the 
head  of  the  spy  trembled,  turned  blue,  and  went 
out.  Sasha  seemed  to  jump  from  the  porch  into  a 
pit,  from  which  he  snuffled  angrily : 

u  To-day  seven  men  of  my  division  of  the  Safety 
Department  did  not  show  up.  Why?  Many 
seem  to  think  it's  a  holiday.  I  won't  tolerate  stu- 
pidity. Nor  laziness  either.  I  want  you  to  know 
it.  I  am  now  going  to  introduce  strict  regulations. 
I  am  not  Filip  Filippovich.  Who  said  that  Mel- 
nikov  is  going  about  with  a  red  flag?     Who?" 

11  I  saw  him." 

"  With  a  flag?" 

"  Yes.     Marching  and  bawling  '  Liberty !  '  " 


360  THE  SPY 

"  Is  it  you  talking,  Viakhirev?  " 

"  Yes,  I." 

Now  that  the  tall  body  of  Sasha  had  disappeared 
and  mingled  with  the  dark  mass  of  people  at  the 
platform,  it  seemed  to  Yevsey  that  he  grew  in  size 
and  spread  over  the  court  like  a  stifling  cloud, 
which  imperceptibly  floated  toward  him  in  the  dark- 
ness. Yevsey  came  out  of  his  leaning  posture, 
and  walked  toward  the  exit,  stepping  as  on  ice, 
a6  if  fearing  he  would  sink  through  a  hole.  But 
the  adhesive  voice  of  Sasha  overtook  him,  pouring 
a  painful  cold  on  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"  Well,  that  fool  will  be  the  first  to  slash.  I 
know  him."  Sasha  laughed  a  thin  howling  laugh. 
"  I  have  a  slogan  for  him,  ■  Strike  in  behalf  of  the 
people.'  And  who  said  that  Maklakov  dropped 
the  service  ?  " 

"  He  knows  everything,  the  vile  skunk,"  Yevsey 
said  to  himself  with  a  calm  that  surprised  him. 

"  I  said  it.  I  heard  it  from  Viekov,  and  he  got 
it  from  Klimkov." 

"  Viekov,  Klimkov,  Grokhotov  —  all  trash. 
I'll  step  on  the  tails  of  all  of  them.  Parasites,  hy- 
brids, lazy  good-for-nothings.  Is  anyone  of  them 
here?" 

"  Klimkov  must  be  here,"  answered  Viakhirev. 

Sasha  shouted : 

"Klimkov!" 

Yevsey  extended  his  arm  before  him,  and  walked 


THE  SPY  361 

faster.  His  legs  bent  under  him.  He  heard  Kras- 
avin  say: 

"  Gone,  apparently.  You  ought  not  to  shout 
family  names." 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  teach  me.  I'll  soon  destroy 
all  family  names  and  similar  stupidities." 

"  It's  you  that  I'm  going  to  destroy/'  Yevsey 
made  the  mental  jhreat,  gnashing  his  teeth_until 
thev  pained  him. 

But  when  he  had  left  the  gate  behind  him,  he 
was  seized  by  the  debilitating  consciousness  of  his 
impotence  and  nothingness.  It  was  a  long  time 
since  he  had  experienced  these  feelings  with  such 
crushing  distinctness.  He  was  frightened  by  their 
load,  and  succumbed  to  their  pressure. 

"  Maybe  it  will  still  be  warded  off,"  he  tried  to 
embolden  himself.     "  Maybe  he  won't  succeed." 

But  Yevsey  did  not  believe  his  own  thoughts. 
Without  a  will  of  his  own  he  regarded  everybody 
else  as  equally  devoid  of  will,  and  he  knew  that 
Sasha  could  easily  compel  all  whom  he  wanted  to 
compel  to  submit  to  his  domination. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

r|  YHE  next  day  Yevsey  resolved  not  to  leave  the 
■■■  house  for  a  long  time.  He  lay  in  bed  looking 
at  the  ceiling.  The  leaden  face  of  Sasha  with 
the  dim  eyes  and  the  band  of  red  pimples  on  the 
forehead  floated  before  him.  To-day  this  face  re- 
called his  childhood  and  the  sinister  disk  of  the 
moon  in  the  mist  over  the  marsh. 

As  he  lay  there,  empty,  languid,  and  cold,  he 
gave  himself  over  to  grief  at  his  shattered  dreams, 
the  dreams  that  Sasha  so  easily  crushed.  His 
hatred  of  the  spy  deepening,  he  felt  himself  capable 
of  biting  him  with  his  teeth,  of  gouging  out  his 
eyes. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  some  of  his  comrades 
might  come  to  fetch  him,  and  he  hurriedly  left  the 
house,  and  ran  down  several  streets.  Tiring  al- 
most immediately  he  stopped  and  waited  for  a 
car.  People  passed  by  in  a  continuous  stream. 
He  scented  something  new  in  them  to-day,  and  did 
violence  to  himself  in  examining  them  closely. 
Soon  he  realized  that  this  new  thing  was  the  old 
fear  so  well  known  to  him.  It  was  the  old  dread 
and  perplexity.  People  looked  around  distrust- 
fully, suspiciously,  no  longer  with  the  kind  expres- 
sion their  eyes  had  recently  worn.  Their  voices 
362 


THE  SPY  363 

sounded  lower,  and  betrayed  anger,  resentment, 
sorrow.     Their  talk  was  of  the  horrible. 

Two  persons  stationed  themselves  near  Yevsey. 
One  of  them,  a  stout  shaven  man,  asked  of  the 
other,  who  had  a  large  black  beard : 

11  How  many  were  killed?  " 

"  Five.     Sixteen  wounded." 

"  Did  the  Cossacks  shoot?" 

11  Yes.  A  boy  was  killed,  a  student  at  the  high 
school."  Yevsey  looked  at  them,  and  inquired 
drily: 

"What  for?" 

The  man  with  the  black  beard  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  answered  reluctantly  in  a  low  voice : 

"  They  say  the  Cossacks  were  drunk." 

"  Sasha  arranged  that,"  thought  Yevsey. 

"  And  on  the  Spassky  Bridge  the  mob  beat  a 
student,  and  threw  him  into  the  river,"  announced 
the  shaven  man,  drawing  a  deep  breath. 

"  What  for?"  Yevsey  asked  again. 

11  I  don't  know.     Some  sort  of  patriots." 

The  black-bearded  man  explained: 

"  Since  this  morning  tramps  waving  tri-colored 
flags  and  carrying  portraits  of  the  Czar  have  been 
marching  the  streets  and  beating  the  decently  clad 
people." 

"  Sasha !  "  Yevsey  repeated  to  himself. 

"  They  say  it  was  organized  by  the  police  and 
the  Department  of  Safety." 

"  Of  course !  "  burst  from  Klimkov.     But  the 


3&j  THE  SPY, 

next  instant  he  compressed  his  lips  tightly,  and 
glanced  sidewise  at  the  black-bearded  man.  He 
resolved  to  go  away.  But  just  then  the  car  came 
along,  and  as  the  two  men  prepared  to  board  it,  he 
thought : 

11 1  must  get  on,  too,  or  else  they'll  guess  I'm  a 
spy.  What  would  they  think  of  a  man  who  waited 
for  a  car  with  them,  and  then  didn't  take  it?  " 

The  passengers  in  the  car  seemed  calmer  to 
Yevsey  than  the  pedestrians  on  the  street. 

"  After  all  it's  some  sort  of  concealment,  though 
only  behind  glass,"  was  his  explanation  of  the  dif- 
ference, as  he  listened  to  the  animated  conversa- 
tion in  the  car. 

A  tall  man  with  a  bony  face  said  plaintively, 
spreading  his  hands: 

"  I,  too,  love  and  respect  the  Czar;  I'm  heartily 
thankful  to  him  for  the  manifesto.  I'm  ready  to 
shout  '  Hurrah '  as  much  as  you  please;  and  offer 
up  prayers  of  gratitude.  But  to  smash  windows 
from  patriotism  and  break  bones  —  what's  that?  " 

"  Such  barbarism,  beastliness  in  our  age !  "  said 
ft  stout  lady.  "  Oh,  those  people,  how  horribly 
cruel  they  are !  " 

From  a  corner  came  a  firm  assured  voice: 

i4  All  the  work  of  the  police,  no  doubt  of  it !  " 

"But  what  for?" 

All  were  silent  for  a  minute. 

"  I  know,"  thought  Klimkov. 


THE  SPY  365 

From  the  corner  came  the  same  assured  voice : 

"  They're  preparing  a  counter-revolution  in  Rus- 
sian fashion.  You  just  take  a  close  look  at  those 
in  command  of  the  patriotic  demonstrators  — 
disguised  police,  agents  of  the  Department  of 
Safety." 

Yevsey  heard  these  words  with  joy,  and  furtively 
regarded  the  young  face.  It  was  dry  and  clean, 
with  a  cartilaginous  nose,  a  small  mustache,  and 
a  tuft  of  light  hair  on  a  determined  chin.  The 
youth  sat  leaning  against  the  back  of  his  seat  in  a 
corner  of  the  car,  one  leg  crossed  over  the  other. 
He  looked  at  the  passengers  in  the  car  with  a  wise 
glance  from  his  blue  eyes,  and  spoke  like  a  mart 
who  masters  his  words  and  thoughts  and  believes 
in  their  effectiveness. 

Dressed  in  a  short  warm  jacket  and  tall  boots, 
he  resembled  a  workingman,  but  his  white  hands 
and  the  thin  horizontal  lines  on  his  forehead  be- 
trayed him. 

"  Disguised,"  thought  Yevsey.  "  Well,  let  him 
be  disguised.  What  difference  does  it  make  to 
me?" 

He  began  to  follow  the  loud  firm  talk  of  the 
fair-haired  youth  with  the  greatest  attention,  look- 
ing at  his  wise,  transparent  blue  eyes  and  agreeing 
with  him.  But  suddenly  he  shuddered,  seized  with 
a  sharp  premonition.  On  the  platform  of  the  car, 
at  the  conductor's  side,  he  saw  through  the  window 


366  THE  SPY 

a  pair  of  narrow  drooping  shoulders,  and  the  back 
of  a  black  protruding  head.  The  car  jolted,  and 
the  familiar  figure  swayed. 

"YakovZarubin!" 

Klimkov  utterly  dismayed  turned  his  look  again 
upon  the  blue-eyed  youth.  He  had  removed 
his  hat,  and  he  smoothed  his  wavy  hair  as  he 
said: 

"  As  long  as  our  administration  has  the  soldiers 
in  its  hands,  the  police,  and  the  spies,  it  will  not 
yield  the  people  and  society  their  rights  without  a 
fight,  without  bloodshed.  We  must  remember 
that." 

"  It  isn't  true,  my  dear  sir,"  cried  the  bony-faced 
man.  "  The  Czar  granted  a  full  constitution. 
He  granted  it,  yes,  so  how  dare  you  — ?w 

"But  who  is  arranging  the  street  massacres? 
And  who's  shouting  '  Down  with  the  constitu- 
tion? '  "  the  young  man  asked  coldly.  "  You  had 
better  take  a  look  at  the  defenders  of  the  old  sys- 
tem.    There  they  go !  " 

At  that  instant  the  car  came  to  a  standstill  with 
a  creak,  and  when  the  irritating  noise  of  its  move- 
ment had  subsided,  the  passengers  could  hear  loud 
turbulent  shouts: 

"  God  save  the  Czar!  " 

"Rrrra-a-h!" 

A  pack  of  boys  came  running  from  around  the 
corner  in  front  of  the  car,  and  noisily  scattered 
over  the  street,   as  if  dropped  from  above.     A 


THE  SPY  367 

crowd  of  people  waving  three-colored  flags  over 
their  heads  pushed  after  them  like  a  black  wedge 
in  hurried  disorder.  Alarming  shouts  filled  the 
air: 

"Hurrah!" 

"Stop,  boys!" 

"  Down  with  the  constitution!  " 

"We  don't  want— " 

"  God  save  the  Czar!  " 

"Hurrah!" 

The  people  shoved  past  one  another,  gesticulated 
wildly,  and  threw  their  hats  in  the  air.  In  front 
of  all  with  his  head  hanging  low  like  a  bull,  walked 
Melnikov,  holding  a  heavy  pole  from  which  the 
national  flag  floated.  His  eyes  were  fastened  on 
the  ground.  He  lifted  his  feet  high,  and  appar- 
ently must  have  tramped  the  ground  with  great 
force,  for  at  each  step  his  body  quivered,  and  his 
head  shook.  His  heavy  bellow  could  be  heard 
above  the  chaos  of  thinner  shouts. 

"  We  don't  want  deception  — " 

Behind,  a  crowd  of  ragged  people,  dark  and 
grey,  pushed  down  the  street,  jumping  and  twisting 
their  necks.  They  raised  their  heads,  hands,  and 
arms,  looked  up  to  the  windows  of  the  houses, 
jumped  on  the  pavements  to  knock  off  the  hats  of 
passersby,  ran  up  to  Melnikov  again,  shouted  and 
whistled  and  seized  one  another,  rolling  into  a 
heap.  Melnikov  waving  the  flag  clanged  like  a, 
huge  bell: 


368  THE  SPY 

"  Down  with  the  mutinee-e !  Down  with  the 
impostors !     Stop !  " 

"Drunk,  or  what?"  thought  Klimkov,  coldly. 

"  Halt !  "  Raising  his  head  and  the  flag  on 
high,  the  spy  commanded:     "  Sing!  " 

From  his  broad  mouth  gushed  a  savage  mourn- 
jf ul  note : 

"Go-o-od—  " 

But  at  that  moment  excited  shouts  splashed  in 
the  air,  disordered  and  rapacious,  like  a  flock  of 
hungry  birds.  They  clawed  the  voice  of  the  spy, 
and  covered  it  with  their  hasty,  greedy  mass. 

"  Hurrah  for  the  Emperor !  Hats  off !  True 
Orthodox  people  —  we  want  the  old !  Down  with 
treachery !  " 

It  was  quiet  in  the  car.  All  stood  with  their 
hats  off,  silent,  pale,  observing  the  crowd  that  en- 
circled them  like  a  wavy,  dirty  ring.  But  the  dis- 
guised man  did  not  remove  his  hat.  Yevsey  looked 
at  his  stern  face,  and  thought : 

"  Putting  on  airs."  And  he  turned  his  eyes  on 
the  street  with  a  wry  smile  on  his  face.  He  felt 
very  distinctly  the  nothingness  of  these  restless 
jumping  people.  He  clearly  understood  that  dark 
terror  was  whipping  them  from  within,  was  pushing 
and  carrying  them  from  side  to  side.  They  were 
fighting,  intoxicating  themselves  with  loud  shouts, 
in  the  desire  to  prove  to  themselves  that  they  were 
afraid  of  nothing.  They  ran  around  the  car  like 
a  pack  of  hounds  just  released  from  the  leash,  full 


THE  SPY  369 

of  senseless  joy,  without  having  had  time  to  free 
themselves  from  the  customary  fear.  Apparently 
they  could  not  make  up  their  minds  to  traverse  the 
broad  bright  street.  They  were  unable  to  gather 
themselves  into  one  body.  They  tossed  about, 
roared,  and  glared  around  alarmingly,  waiting  for 
something. 

Near  the  car  stood  a  little  thin,  sharp-bearded 
muzhik  in  a  torn  hat  and  short  fur  coat.  He  held 
his  eyes  closed  and  his  face  raised  on  high.  His 
hungry  mouth  gaped  displaying  his  yellow  teeth 
as  he  shouted  in  a  thin  voice : 

"  D-o-o-wn !     We  don't  want  — " 

Tears  of  fear  and  excitement  ran  down  his 
cheeks.  His  forehead  glistened  with  sweat. 
Ceasing  to  shout,  he  bent  his  neck  and  looked 
around  distrustfully.  Then  he  raised  his  shoul- 
ders, and  closing  his  eyes  again,  yelled  once  more  as 
if  he  were  being  beaten : 

"E-e-enough!" 

"  That's  the  way  I  would  have  become,  too," 
thought  Yevsey  to  himself.  Though  the  muzhik 
cut  a  droll  figure,  Yevsey  was  sorry  for  him  and  for 
himself. 

He  saw  the  familiar  faces  of  the  janitors,  al- 
ways grim,  the  large-whiskered  visage  of  the  church 
watchman  Klimych,  pious  and  sullen,  the  hungry 
eyes  of  the  young  hooligans,  the  astonished  expres- 
sion of  timorous  muzhiks,  and  a  few  creatures  who 
pushed  everyone,  gave  everyone  orders,  and  filled 


37° 


THE  SPY 


the  will-less  blind  bodies  with  their  will,  with  their 
sick  ferocity.  Yevsey  well  understood  that  all 
these  petty  people  like  himself  lived  in  the  close 
captivity  of  fear,  with  no  strength  to  tear  them- 
selves from  its  clutches.  A  powerful  person  might 
gain  mastery  over  them ;  in  obedience  to  the  will  of 
a  still  more  powerful  person  they  would  overthrow 
the  old  receptacle  of  fear  in  exchange  for  a  new 
one.  Now,  separated  by  the  windows  from  the 
mob,  he  looked  at  it  from  aside  and  above,  and  his 
eyes  were  able  to  embrace  much.  Everything  was 
clear  to  him  ad  nauseam.  Anguish  and  wrath 
sucked  at  his  heart. 

Little  Yakov  Zarubin  was  twisting  and  turning 
in  the  middle  of  the  crowd  like  an  eel.  Now  he 
ran  up  to  Melnikov,  pulled  his  sleeve,  and  said 
something  to  him,  nodding  his  head  in  the  direction 
of  the  car. 

/  Klimkov  quickly  glanced  around  at  the  man  in 
.the  hat,  who  had  already  risen,  and  was  walking  to 
jthe  door,  his  head  lifted  high  and  a  frown  on  his 
brow.  Yevsey  stepped  after  him,  but  Melnikov 
jumped  to  the  platform,  and  blocked  the  doorway 
with  his  large  body. 

"  Hat  off !  "  he  bawled. 

The  man  faced  about  abruptly,  and  walked  to 
the  other  exit.  There  he  was  met  by  Zarubin,  who 
shouted  in  a  loud  voice : 

"  Here,  this  man  in  a  hat !  I  know  him !  He 
makes  bombs !     Take  care,  boys !  " 


THE  SPY  371 

A  revolver  gleamed  in  Zarubin's  hand.  He 
swung  it  as  if  it  were  a  stone,  and  thrust  it  forward. 
People  from  the  street  clambered  to  the  platform, 
and  the  passengers  pressing  to  the  exits  met  them 
face  to  face.     The  lady  screeched : 

"  Take  off  your  hat !     Why,  man !  " 

All  screamed,  roared,  and  pressed  one  another. 
Their  eyes  staring  insanely,  fastened  upon  the  man 
in  the  hat. 

"I'm  going  to  shoot!  Get  away!"  the  man 
shouted  aloud,  advancing  upon  Zarubin.  The  spy 
retreated,  but  he  was  pushed  in  back,  and  fell  to 
his  knees.  Supporting  himself  on  the  floor  with 
one  hand,  he  stretched  out  the  other.  A  shot  rang 
out,  then  another.  The  windows  rattled.  For  a 
second  all  the  cries  congealed.  Then  the  firm 
voice  said  contemptuously: 

"  Vile  curs!" 

The  air  and  the  windows  quivered  with  a  third 
shot,  and  Zarubin  uttered  a  loud  cry : 

"Ugh!  "     His  head  struck  the  floor,  as  if  he 
were   making   an   obeisance    at   somebody's    feet. 
The  car  became  emptier  and  quieter.     Klimkov 
ensconced  in  a  corner,  shrivelled  up  on  his  seat,  andS 
thought  listlessly: 

"  I  might  have  been  killed." 

The  thought  darted  by,  and  disappeared  without 
rousing  in  the  darkness  of  his  soul  either  fear  or 
joy.  He  looked  around  wearily.  The  man  in  the 
hat  stood  on  the  platform  of  the  car.     Melnikov 


372 


THE  SPY 


advanced  toward  him  past  Yevsey,  and  Zarubin 
lay  motionless  face  downward. 

"I  will  shoot  you  down  —  everyone  of  you! 
Get  away  from  here !  "  the  loud,  dry  cry  was  heard 
from  the  platform. 

But  Melnikov  stepped  across  the  body  of  Yakov, 
seized  the  fair-haired  youth  by  the  waist,  and  threw 
him  into  the  street. 

"  Beat  him  down  — !  "  he  shouted  bluntly  in  a 
savage  voice. 

Three  revolver  shots  followed  in  quick  succes- 
sion. The  deaf  blows  clapped.  Someone  howled 
in  a  long-drawn  plaintive  cry  like  an  infant. 

"Oh,  oh,  my  leg!" 

Another  man  shouted  hoarsely  with  an  effort : 

"  Ah,  ah !     Hit  him  on  the  head !     Hey,  hey !  " 

And  a  thin  hysterical  voice  pealed  in  ecstasy : 

"  Tear  him  to  pieces,  my  dear  people.  Choke 
him !  Enough !  Their  time  is  past !  Now  we'll 
give  it  to  them.     Now  our  turn  has  come  — " 

All  the  cries  were  suddenly  covered  by  a  loud 
ejaculation  full  of  mournful  disdain : 

"Idiots!" 

f_  Yevsey  reeled  from  weakness  in  his  legs.  He 
walked  to  the  platform,  from  which  he  saw  a  dark 
heap  of  people.  With  bent  backs,  swinging  their 
arms  and  legs,  groaning  with  the  strain  of  excite- 
ment, uttering  tired  hoarse  articulations,  they 
stirred  busily  on  the  street,  like  large  shaggy  worms, 
as  they  dragged  over  the  stones  the  body  of  the 


THE  SPY  373: 

fair-haired  youth,  already  crushed  and  torn.  They 
kicked  at  it,  tramped  on  its  face  and  chest,  pulled 
its  hair,  its  legs  and  arms,  and  simultaneously  tore 
him  in  different  directions.  Half  bare,  covered 
with  blood,  it  flapped  against  the  stones,  soft  as 
dough,  with  each  blow  losing  more  and  more  sem- 
blance of  a  human  figure.  These  people  worked 
over  him  industriously.  The  little  lean  muzhik 
trying  to  crush  his  skull,  stepped  on  it  with  one 
foot,  and  sang  out : 

"  Aha !  Our  time  has  come,  too." 
The  work  was  accomplished.  One  after  the 
other  they  left  the  middle  of  the  street  for  the  pave- 
ment. A  pockmarked  fellow  wiped  his  hands  on 
his  short  sheepskin  overcoat,  and  asked  with  the  air 
of  a  manager,  or  superintendent: 
"Who  took  his  pistol  ?" 

Now  the  voices  sounded  weary,  reluctant.  But 
on  the  pavement  a  laugh  was  heard  coming  from 
a  small  group  of  people  standing  next  to  the 
lamp-post.  An  offended  voice  was  discussing 
hotly : 

"  You  lie !  I  was  the  first.  The  second  he 
fell  I  gave  him  one  on  the  jaw  with  my  boot." 

11  Cabman  Mikhailov  pounced  on  him  first, 
then  I." 

"  Mikhailov  got  a  bullet  in  his  leg." 
"  If  it  didn't  hit  the  bone,  it's  all  right." 
These  people  after  tasting  blood  had  apparently 
grown  bolder.     They  looked  around  on  all  sides 


374  THE  SPYi 

with  unsatiated  eyes,  with  greed,  and  assured  ex- 
pectation. 

In  the  middle  of  the  street  lay  a  formless  dark 
heap,  from  which  blood  was  oozing  into  the  hol- 
lows between  the  stones. 

"  That's  the  way  — "  Yevsey  thought,  looking 
at  the  red  designs  on  the  paving.  In  the  dark  red 
mist  trembling  before  his  eyes  appeared  the  hairy 
face  of  Melnikov.  His  voice  was  tired  and 
muffled. 

11  There,  they've  killed  him!  " 

11  Yes,  how  quickly !  " 

11  They  killed  another  one  this  morning." 

"What  for?" 

"  He  was  speaking.  He  was  standing  on  the 
curb  addressing  the  people.  Chasin  fired  into  his 
stomach." 

"  What  for?  "  Yevsey  repeated. 

"  Those  speakers  are  deceivers  —  a  spurious 
manifesto  —  there's  no  such  thing  —  all  a  bluff !  " 

"  Sasha  thought  that  all  out,"  said  Yevsey 
quietly,  with  conviction. 

Melnikov  shook  his  head,  and  looked  at  his 
large  hands. 

"  Somebody  always  deceives,"  he  mumbled  in  a 
drunken  voice. 

He  entered  the  car,  and  raised  Zarubin  lightly, 
placing  him  on  the  bench  face  up. 

"  He's  dead.     There's  where  it  hit  him  — " 


THE  SPY  375 

Yevsey  sought  the  scar  on  Zarubin's  face  that 
the  blow  of  the  bottle  had  left.  He  did  not  find 
it.  Now  over  the  right  eye  was  a  little  red  hole 
from  which  Klimkov  could  not  tear  his  eyes.  It 
absorbed  his  entire  attention,  and  aroused  sharp 
pity  for  Yakov. 

"Have  you  a  pistol?"  asked  Melnikov. 

"No." 

"  There,  take  Yakov's." 

"  I  don't  want  to.     I  don't  need  it." 

11  Now  everybody  needs  a  pistol,"  said  Melnikov 
simply,  and  slipped  the  revolver  into  Yevsey's  over- 
coat pocket.  "  Yes,  there  was  a  Yakov,  now  there 
is  no  Yakov." 

"  It  was  I  who  marked  him  for  death,"  thought 
Yevsey,  looking  at  his  comrade's  face. 

Zarubin's  brows  were  sternly  drawn.  A  look  of 
serious  preoccupation  gleamed  and  died  away  in 
his  dim  eyes.  His  little  black  mustache  bristled 
on  hib  raised  lip.  He  appeared  to  be  annoyed. 
His  half-open  mouth  seemed  ready  to  pour  forth 
a  rapid  torrent  of  irritated  talk. 

"  Come,"  said  Melnikov. 

11  And  he  —  how  about  them?  "  asked  Yevsey, 
tearing  his  eyes  from  Zarubin. 

11  The  police  will  take  them  away.  It's  against 
the  law  to  remove  the  killed.  Let's  go  somewhere, 
and  shake  ourselves  up.  I  haven't  eaten  to-day. 
I  can't  eat  —  the  third  day  without  food.     No 


376  THE  SPY 

sleep  either."  He  sighed  painfully,  and  concluded 
with  somber  sang  froid.  "  I  should  have  been 
killed  in  Yakov's  place." 

"  Sasha  will  ruin  all,"  said  Yevsey,  through  his 
teeth.     "  He'll  ruin  us  all." 

"  Blindness  of  the  soul." 

They  walked  along  the  street  without  observing 
anything,  and  each  spoke  that  with  which  his  own 
mind  was  occupied.     Both  were  like  drunken  men. 

"  Where's  the  truth?  "  asked  Melnikov,  putting 
his  hand  forward,  as  if  to  test  the  air. 

"  There,  you  see,  two  have  been  killed,"  said 
Yevsey,  making  an  effort  to  catch  an  elusive 
thought. 

"  Many  people  have  been  killed  to-day,  I  should 
think.     All  are  blind." 

11  Why  did  Sasha  arrange  this?  " 

"  I  don't  love  him  either." 

"  He's  the  one  who  ought  to  be  killed,"  ex- 
claimed Yevsey,  with  bitter  vengefulness. 

Melnikov  was  silent  for  a  long  time.  Then  he 
suddenly  shook  his  fist  in  the  air,  and  said  reso- 
lutely : 

"  Enough !  I've  taken  sins  enough  upon  my- 
self. On  the  other  side  of  the  Volga  I  have  an 
uncle,  a  very  old  man.  He  is  all  I  have  in  this 
world.  I'll  go  to  him.  He  keeps  an  apiary  — 
when  he  was  young  he  was  tried  for  forgery." 
After  another  pause  of  silence  the  spy  laughed 
quietly. 


THE  SPY  377 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  asked  Yevsey,  annoyed. 

"  I'm  forgetting  everything.  My  uncle  has 
now  been  dead  for  three  years." 

They  reached  a  cafe  known  to  them.  Yevsey 
stopped  at  the  door,  and  looked  meditatively  at 
the  illuminated  windows. 

"  People  again,"  he  muttered,  dissatisfied.  "  I 
don't  want  to  go  in  there." 

"  Let's  go  in.  It's  all  the  same,"  said  Melnikov, 
taking  him  by  the  arm,  and  leading  him  after  him- 
self. "  It  will  be  tiresome  for  me  to  be  here  alone. 
Besides  I've  become  fearsome.  I'm  not  afraid  of 
being  killed  if  I'm  recognized  as  a  spy.  It's  just 
a  general  feeling  of  dread." 

The  two  men  did  not  enter  the  room  in  which 
their  comrades  were  wont  to  gather,  but  took  seats 
in  a  corner  of  the  common  hall,  where  there  were 
a  number  of  persons,  of  whom  none  were  drunk, 
though  the  talk  was  noisy  and  evinced  unusual  ex- 
citement. Klimkov  by  habit  began  to  listen  to  the 
conversations,  while  the  thought  of  Sasha  clung  to 
him,  and  quietly  unfolded  itself  in  his  head,  stupe- 
fied by  the  impressions  of  the  last  days,  but  fresh- 
ened by  the  constant  influx  of  poignant  hatred  and 
fear  of  the  spy. 

He  recalled  the  sullen  face  of  the  dead  Zarubin, 
the  mauled  body  of  the  fair-haired  man.  He 
looked  in  perplexity  at  the  noisy  public,  blinking  as 
if  half  asleep.  All  was  incoherent,  as  in  a  night- 
mare.    Melnikov  drank  tea  with  no  appetite,  keep- 


378  THE  SPY 

ing  silent  and  from  time  to  time  stretching  himself. 

Not  far  from  them  at  a  table  sat  three  men,  ap- 
parently clerks  with  the  characteristic  speech  of  the 
class.  They  were  young  and  fashionably  dressed, 
with  a  display  of  gay  necktie.  One  of  them,  a 
curly-headed  youth  with  a  tanned  face  spoke  ex- 
citedly, his  dark  eyes  flashing. 

"  They  utilize  the  ferocity  of  hungry  ragged  row- 
dies, by  which  they  want  to  prove  to  us  that  liberty 
is  impossible  because  of  the  many  barbarians  such 
as  these.  However  —  permit  me  —  savages  did 
not  show  themselves  for  the  first  time  yesterday. 
There  have  always  been  suchJt_and  justice  has  al- 
wavsbe^a^ble  to  cope  with  them;  they  could  be 
held  under  fear  ot  the  Taw.  Then  why  are  they 
permitted  to  perpetrate  every  sort  of  outrage  and 
bestiality  to-day?"  He  looked  around  the  hall 
with  the  air  of  a  victor,  and  answered  his  question 
with  hot  conviction.  "  Because  they  want  to  point 
out  to  us,  '  You  are  for  freedom,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, well  here  you  have  it.  Freedom  for  you 
means  murder,  robbery,  and  all  kinds  of  mob  vio- 
lence." 

"  Do  you  hear?"  demanded  Yevsey,  triumph- 
antly. "Isn't  that  Sasha's  scheme?  "  The  hot 
voice  of  the  orator  roused  in  his  soul  the  quiet 
smouldering  hope.  "  Maybe  Sasha  won't  conquer." 

Melnikov  looked  at  him  sullenly,  without  reply- 
ing. 


THE  SPY  379 

The  curly-headed  man  rose  from  the  chair,  and 
continued  waving  a  glass   of  wine   in  his  hand. 

"  It's  not  true,  and  I  protest.  Honest  people 
want  liberty,  not  in  order  to  crush  one  another, 
but  in  order  for  each  to  be  protected  against  the 
prevailing  violence  of  our  lawless  life.  Liberty  is 
the  goddess  of  reason.  They  have  drunk  enough 
of  our  blood.     I  protest.     Long  live  liberty !  " 

The  public  raised  a  cheer,  and  sprang  to  their 
feet. 

Melnikov  looked  at  the  curly-headed  orator,  and 
muttered : 

"What  a  fool!" 

11  He  speaks  truly,"  rejoined  Yevsey,  angrily..-—' 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  asked  the  spy  indiffer- 
ently, and  began  to  drink  the  beer  in  slow  gulps. 

Yevsey  wanted  to  tell  this  heavy  man  that  he 
himself  was  a  fool,  a  blind  beast,  whom  the  cunning 
and  cruel  masters  of  his  life  had  taught  to  hunt 
people  down.  But  Melnikov  raised  his  head,  and 
looking  into  Klimkov's  face  with  dark  eyes  terribly 
widened,  said  in  a  sounding  whisper: 

"I'm  afraid  for  this  reason:  when  I  was  in 
prison  an  incident  happened  there  — " 

"  Hold  on,"  said  Yevsey,  "  I  want  to  listen." 

A  thin  voice  which  drilled  the  ear,  pierced  tri- 
umphantly through  the  soft  mass  of  sounds. 

"  Did  you  hear?  He  says  a  goddess,  yet  we 
Russian  people, have  only  one  goddess,  the  Holy 


y 


380  THE  SPY 

Mother  of  God,  the  Virgin  Mary.     That's  how 
those  curly-headed  youngsters  speak !  " 

"  Out  with  him !  " 

"Silence!" 

"  No,  if  you  please.     If  there's  liberty,  everyone 

has  a  right — " 

sj.      "You  see?     The  curly-headed  youngsters  walk 

(if  ithe  streets,  beat  the  people  who  rise  up  to  maintain 

/  >  the  Czar's  truth  against  treachery,  while  we  Rus- 

y  t   sians,  the  True  Orthodox,  don't  dare  even  to  speak. 

J    Is  this  liberty?" 

"  They'll  fight,"  said  Klimkov,  starting  to  trem- 
ble.    "  Somebody  will  be  killed.     I'm  going." 

"  What  a  peculiar  fellow  you  are !  Well,  let's  go. 
The  devil  take  them !    What  are  they  to  you  ?  " 

Melnikov  flung  the  money  on  the  table,  and 
moved  toward  the  exit,  his  head  bowed  low,  as 
if  to  conceal  his  conspicuous  face.  On  the  street 
in  the  dark  and  the  cold,  he  began  to  speak  in  a 
subdued  voice : 

"  When  I  was  in  prison  —  it  was  on  account  of 
a  certain  foreman,  who  was  strangled  in  our  fac- 
tory —  I  was  hauled  up,  too.  They  told  me  I 
would  get  hard  labor.  Everybody  said  it,  first 
the  coroner,  then  the  gendarmes  joined  in.  I  got 
frightened.  I  was  still  young,  and  I  didn't  take 
to  the  idea  of  hard  labor.  I  used  to  cry."  He 
coughed  a  clapping  cough,  and  slackened  his  pace. 
"  Once  the  assistant  overseer  of  the  prison,  Aleksey 
Maksimych,  a  good  little  old  man,  came  in  to  me. 


THE  SPY  381 

He  loved  me.  He  grieved  for  me  all  the  time. 
*  Ah/  says  he,  'Liapin,' —  my  real  name  is 
Liapin  —  *  Ah,'  says  he,  '  brother,  I'm  sorry  for 
you.     You  are  such  an  unfortunate  fellow  — " 

Melnikov's  speech  unfolded  itself  like  a  soft 
band  upon  which  Klimkov  quietly  let  himself  down, 
as  upon  a  narrow  path  leading  down  into  the  dark- 
ness, into  something  terrible  and  awesomely  inter- 
esting. 

"  He  comes  and  says  he,  '  Liapin,  I  want  to  save 
you  for  a  good  life.  Yours  is  a  hard-labor  case, 
but  you  can  escape  it.  The  only  thing  you  need 
to  do  is  to  execute  a  man.  He  was  sentenced  for 
political  assassination.  He  will  be  hanged  accord- 
ing to  law  in  the  presence  of  a  priest,  will  be  given 
a  cross  to  kiss,  so  that  you  needn't  be  uneasy  about 
it/  I  say,  *  Why  not?  If  with  the  consent  of  the 
authorities,  and  if  I'm  to  be  pardoned,  I'll  hang 
him.  Only  I  can't.' — ,  *  We'll  teach  you,'  says 
he.  *  We  have  a  man  who  knows  how,  but  he's 
stricken  with  paralysis,  and  can't  do  it  himself.' 
Well  for  a  whole  evening  they  taught  me.  It  was 
in  a  deep  dungeon.  We  stuffed  a  sack  with  rags, 
tied  it  with  a  string,  so  as  to  make  a  neck.  Then 
I  pulled  it  up  on  a  hook.  I  learned  how  to  do  the, 
business.  Early  in  the  morning  they  gave  me  half 
a  bottle  to  drink,  led  me  out  into  the  yard  with 
soldiers  carrying  guns.  I  see  a  gallows  has  been 
erected,  and  various  officers  before  it.  They  are 
all  muffled  up  and  shrivelled.     It  was  autumn  then, 


382  THE  SPY 

too,  November.  I  ascended  the  scaffolding,  and 
the  boards  shook,  creaked  under  my  feet  like  teeth. 
This  made  me  feel  uncomfortable,  and  I  said 
*  Give  me  more  whiskey.  I'm  afraid/  Then  they 
brought  him  — " 

Melnikov  again  began  to  cough  dully,  and 
clutched  at  his  throat.  Yevsey  pressed  up  to  him, 
trying  to  keep  step  with  him.  He  kept  his  eyes 
fastened  on  the  ground,  not  daring  to  look  either 
to  the  front  or  the  side. 

"  I  see  a  young  powerful  fellow.  He  stands 
firm,  and  all  the  time  keeps  stroking  his  head  from 
his  forehead  back  to  his  neck.  I  began  to  put  the 
face-cloth  on  him.  I  must  have  pulled  or  pinched 
him  in  some  way,  and  he  tells  me  quietly  without 
anger,  *  Be  more  careful,  brother.'  Yes.  The 
priest  gave  him  the  cross,  and  he  says,  *  Don't  dis- 
turb yourself.  I'm  not  a  believer.'  His  face  was 
so  —  as  if  he  knew  everything  that  would  be  after 
death,  and  now  and  to-morrow  and  always,  knew  it 
for  certain.  Somehow  I  strangled  him,  shaking  all 
over.  My  hands  grew  numb,  my  legs  would  not 
hold  me.  I  felt  horrible  on  account  of  him  —  he 
was  so  calm  about  it  all  —  a  master  over  death." 

Melnikov  was  silent,  looked  around,  and  began 
to  walk  more  quickly. 

"  Well?  "  asked  Yevsey  in  a  whisper. 

"Well,  I  strangled  him.  That's  all.  Only 
ever  since,  when  I  see  or  hear  that  a  man  has  been 
killed,  I  recollect  him  —  always.     In  my  opinion 


THE  SPY  383 

he  was  the  only  man  who  knew  the  truth.     That 
was  why  he  was  not  afraid.     And  the  main  thin 
is,  he  knew  what  would  be  to-morrow  —  which  n 
one  knows.     I  tell  you  what,  Yevsey,  come  to  me 
to  sleep,  eh?     Come,  please." 

"  All  right,"  said  Yevsey  quietly. 

He  was  glad  of  the  offer.  He  could  not  walk  t 
his  room  alone  —  along  the  streets  in  the  dark 
ness.  He  felt  a  tightness  in  his  breast  and  a  heavy 
pressure  on  his  bones,  as  if  he  were  creeping  under 
ground,  and  the  earth  were  squeezing  his  back,  his 
chest,  his  sides,  and  his  head:  while  in  front  of  him 
gaped  a  deep  pit,  which  he  could  not  escape,  into 
which  he  must  soon  descend  —  a  silent  bottomless 
abyss  down  which  he  would  drop  endlessly. 

"  That's  good,"  said  Melnikov.  "  I  would  feel 
bored  alone." 

11  If  you  would  kill  Sasha  — "  Yevsey  advised 
him  sadly. 

"  There  you  are !  "  Melnikov  fended  off  the 
idea.  "  What  do  you  think  —  that  I  love  to  kill? 
They  asked  me  twice  again  to  hang  people,  a 
woman  and  a  student.  I  declined.  I  might  have 
had  two  to  remember  instead  of  one.  The  killed 
appear  again.     They  come  back." 

"Often?" 

M  Sometimes,  sometimes  not.  When  often,  it's 
every  night.  How  can  you  defend  yourself  against 
them?  I  can't  pray  to  God.  I've  forgotten  my 
prayers.     Have  you  ?  " 


a 


384  THE  SPY 

"  I  remember  mine." 

They  entered  a  court,  and  were  long  in  pene- 
trating to  its  depths,  stumbling  as  they  walked  over 
boards,  stones,  and  rubbish.  Then  they  descended 
a  flight  of  steps,  which  Klimkov,  feeling  the  walls 
with  his  hands,  thought  would  never  come  to  an 
end.  When  he  found  himself  at  last  in  the  lodging 
of  the  spy,  and  had  examined  it  in  the  light  of  the 
lamp,  he  was  amazed  to  see  the  mass  of  gay  pic- 
tures and  paper  flowers  with  which  the  walls  were 
almost  entirely  covered.  Melnikov  at  once  be- 
came a  stranger  in  this  comfortable  little  room, 
with  a  broad  bed  in  a  corner  behind  white  curtains. 

14  All  this  was  contrived  by  the  woman  with 
whom  I  lived,"  said  Melnikov,  starting  to  undress. 
"  She  ran  away,  the  hussy !  A  gendarme,  a  quar- 
termaster, decoyed  her.  I  can't  understand  it. 
He's  a  grey-haired  widower,  while  she's  young  and 
greedy  for  a  male.  Nevertheless  she  went  away. 
The  third  one  that's  left  me  already.  Come,  let's 
go  to  bed." 

They  lay  side  by  side  in  the  same  bed,  which 
rocked  under  Yevsey  like  a  tossing  sea,  and  all  the 
time  descended  lower  and  lower.  His  heart  sank 
with  it.  The  spy's  words  laid  themselves  heavily 
upon  his  breast. 

"  One  was  Olga." 

"What!" 

"Olga.     Why?" 

"  Nothing." 


THE  SPY  385 

"  A  little  one,  thin  and  jolly.  She  used  to  hide 
my  hat,  or  something  else,  and  I  would  say,  '  Olga, 
where's  my  hat  ?  '  And  she  would  say,  •  Look  for 
it.  You're  a  spy.'  She  liked  to  joke,  but  she  was 
a  loose  woman.  I  hardly  had  my  head  turned,  be- 
fore she  was  with  somebody  else.  I  was  afraid  to 
beat  her.  She  was  frail.  Still  I  pulled  her  hair. 
You've  got  to  do  something." 

"  Lord !  "  quietly  exclaimed  Klimkov.  "  What 
am  I  going  to  do  ?  " 

His  comrade  was  silent  for  a  while,  then  said 
dully  and  slowly : 

"  That's  the  way  I  howl,  too,  sometimes." 

Klimkov  buried  his  head  in  the  pillow,  compres- 
sing his  lips  tightly,  to  restrain  the  stubborn  need 
to  utter  cries  and  complaints. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"V^EVSEY  awoke  with  a  certain  secret  resolution, 
which  held  his  bosom  as  with  a  broad  invisible 
belt.  It  stifled  him.  The  ends  of  this  band,  he 
felt,  were  held  by  some  insistent  being,  who  obsti- 
nately led  him  on  to  an  inescapable  something. 
He  harkened  to  this  desire  and  tested  it  carefully 
with  an  awkward,  timorous  thought.  At  the  same 
time  he  did  not  want  it  to  define  itself. 

Melnikov  dressed  and  washed,  but  uncombed, 
was  sitting  at  the  table  next  to  the  samovar,  munch- 
ing his  bread  lazily  like  an  ox. 

14  You  sleep  well,"  he  said.  "  I  drowsed  a  little, 
then  awoke,  while  it  was  still  night,  and  suddenly 
saw  a  body  beside  me.  I  remembered  that  Tania 
wasn't  here,  but  I  had  forgotten  about  you.  Then 
it  seemed  to  me  that  that  person  was  lying  there. 
He  came  and  lay  down  —  wanted  to  warm  him- 
self. Melnikov  laughed  a  stupid  laugh,  which, 
apparently,  embarrassed  him  the  next  instant. 
u  However,  it's  not  a  joke.  I  lighted  a  match  and 
looked  at  you.  It's  my  idea  you're  not  well.  Your 
face  is  blue  like  — "  He  broke  off  with  a  cough, 
but  Yevsey  guessed  the  unspoken  word,  and  thought 
gloomily : 

11  Rayisa,  too,  said  I  would  choke  myself." 
386 


THE  SPY  387 

The  thought  frightened  him,  clearly  alluding  to 
something  he  did  not  want  to  remember.  Then  he 
tried  insistently  to  evoke  some  desire  which  might 
help  him  to  befool  himself,  to  conceal  the  unavoida- 
ble, that  which  had  already  been  determined. 

"  What  time  is  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  Eleven." 

"  Early  still." 

"  Early,"  confirmed  the  host,  and  both  were  si- 
lent.    Then  Melnikov  proposed : 

"  Let's  live  together,  eh?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"What?" 

"  What  will  happen,"  said  Yevsey,  after  reflect- 
ing a  moment. 

"  Nothing  will  happen.  You're  a  quiet  fellow. 
You  speak  little,  neither  do  I  like  to  speak  always. 
If  it's  tiresome  I  speak,  or  else  I  keep  quiet  all  the 
time.  When  you  ask  about  something,  one  says 
one  thing,  another  says  another  thing,  and  a  third 
still  another.  Well,  the  devil  take  you,  think  I. 
You  have  a  whole  lot  of  words,  but  none  that  are 
true." 

"  Yes,"  said  Yevsey  for  the  sake  of  answering. 

11  Something  must  be  done,"  he  thought  in  self- 
defense.  Suddenly  he  resolved,  "  At  first  I  will  — 
Sasha  — "  But  he  did  not  wish  to  represent 
to  himself  what  would  be  afterward.  "  Where 
are  we  going  to  go?"  he  inquired  of  Melni- 
kov. 


388  THE  SPY 

"  To  the  office,"  Melnikov  replied  with  un- 
concern. 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  declared  Yevsey  drily  and 
firmly. 

Melnikov  combed  his  beard  for  a  time  in  silence. 
Then  he  shoved  the  dishes  from  him,  and  placing 
his  elbows  on  the  table,  said  meditatively  in  a 
subdued  voice : 

"  Our  service  has  become  hard.  All  have  begun 
to  rebel,  but  who  are  the  real  rebels  here  ?  Make 
it  out,  if  you  can." 

"  I  know  who's  the  first  scoundrel  and  skunk," 
muttered  Klimkov. 

"  Sasha  you  mean?  "  inquired  Melnikov. 

Yevsey  gave  no  reply.  He  was  quietly  begin- 
ning to  devise  a  plan  of  action.  Melnikov  started 
to  dress,  sniffing  loudly. 

"  So  we're  going  to  live  together?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Are  you  going  to  bring  your  things  to-day?" 

11 1  don't  know." 

"Will  you  sleep  here  tonight?" 

After  some  reflection  Yevsey  said: 

"  Yes." 

When  the  spy  had  gone,  Klimkov  jumped  to  his 
feet,  and  looked  around  frightened,  quivering 
under  the  stinging  blows  of  suspicion. 

"  He  locked  me  in,  and  went  to  tell  Sasha. 
They'll  come  soon  to  seize  me.  I  must  escape 
through  the  window." 


THE  SPY  389 

He  rushed  to  the  door.  It  was  not  locked.  He 
calmed  himself,  and  said  with  heat,  as  if  con- 
vincing somebody: 

"Well,  is  it  possible  to  live  this  way?  You 
don't  believe  anybody  —  there  is  nobody  —  " 

He  sat  long  behind  the  table  without  moving, 
straining  his  mind,  employing  all  his  cunning  to 
lay  a  snare  for  the  enemy  without  endangering 
himself.  Finally  he  hit  upon  a  plan.  He  must 
in  some  way  lure  Sasha  from  the  office  to  the 
street,  and  walk  with  him.  When  they  would 
meet  a  large  crowd  of  people,  he  would  shout: 

11  This  is  a  spy,  beat  him !  M  And  probably  the 
same  thing  would  happen  as  had  happened  to 
Zarubin  and  the  fair-haired  young  man.  If  the 
people  would  not  turn  upon  Sasha  as  seriously  as 
they  had  yesterday  upon  the  disguised  revolution- 
ist, Yevsey  would  set  them  an  example.  He  would 
fire  first,  as  Zarubin  had.  But  he  would  hit  Sasha. 
He  would  aim  at  his  stomach. 

Klimkov  felt  himself  strong  and  brave,  and 
made  haste  to  leave.  He  wanted  to  do  the  thing  at 
once.  But  the  recollection  of  Zarubin  hindered 
him,  knotting  up  the  poverty-stricken  simplicity  of 
his  contrivance.  He  involuntarily  repeated  his 
notion.     "  It  was  I  who  marked  him  for  death." 

He  did  not  reproach,  he  did  not  blame,  himself. 
Yet  he  felt  that  a  certain  thread  bound  him  to  the 
little  black  spy,  and  he  must  do  something  to 
break  the  thread. 


390  THE  SPY 

"  I  didn't  say  good-by  to  him  —  and  where  will 
I  find  him  now?  " 

On  putting  on  his  overcoat,  he  was  gladdened  to 
feel  the  revolver  in  his  pocket.  Responding  to  a 
fresh  influx  of  power  and  resolution,  he  walked 
out  into  the  street  with  a  firm  tread. 

But  the  nearer  he  got  to  the  Department  of 
Safety  the  more  did  his  bold  mood  melt  and  fade 
away.  The  feeling  of  power  became  dissipated, 
and  when  he  saw  the  narrow  dull  alley  at  the  end 
of  which  was  the  dusky,  three-storied  building,  he 
suddenly  felt  an  invincible  desire  to  find  Zarubin, 
and  take  leave  of  him. 

11 1  insulted  him,"  he  explained  his  desire  to 
himself,  embarrassed  and  quickly  turning  aside 
from  his  aim.     "  I  must  find  him." 

At  the  same  time  he  vaguely  felt  he  could  not 
escape  from  that  which  seized  his  heart  and  pressed 
him,  drew  him  on  after  itself,  and  silently  indicated 
the  one  issue  from  the  terrible  entanglement. 

The  problem  of  the  day,  the  resolve  to  destroy 
Sasha,  did  not  hinder  the  growth  of  the  dark  and 
evil  power  which  filled  his  heart,  while  the  sudden 
wish  to  find  the  body  of  the  little  spy  instantly 
became  an  insurmountable  obstacle  to  the  carrying 
out  of  his  plan. 

He  fed  this  desire  artificially,  in  the  fear  that 
it,  too,  would  disappear.  He  rode  about  in  cabs 
to  police  stations  for  a  number  of  hours,  taking  the 
utmost  pains  in  his  inquiries  regarding  Zarubin, 


THE  SPY  391 

When  at  last  he  found  out  where  the  body  was, 
it  was  too  late  to  visit  it,  and  he  returned  home 
secretly  pleased  that  the  day  had  come  to  an  end. 
Melnikov  did  not  put  in  appearance  at  his 
lodging.  Yevsey  lay  alone  the  whole  night,  trying 
not  to  stir.  At  each  movement  of  his  the  canopy 
over  the  bed  rocked.  An  odor  of  dampness  was 
wafted  in  his  face,  the  bed  creaked  a  tune;  he  felt 
stifled,  nauseated,  and  timorous.  Taking  advan- 
tage of  the  stillness  the  vile  mice  ran  about,  and 
the  rustling  sounds  they  made  tore  the  thin  net  of 
Yevsey's  thoughts  of  Zarubin  and  Sasha.  The 
interruptions  displayed  to  him  the  dead,  calm, 
expectant  emptiness  of  his  environment,  with  which 
the  emptiness  of  his  soul  insistently  desired  to  blend. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

jpfARLY  in  the  morning  he  was  already  standing 
in  the  corner  of  a  large  yard  at  a  yellow  hovel 
with  a  cross  over  the  roof.  A  grey  humpbacked 
watchman  said  as  he  opened  the  door: 

"  There  are  two  of  them  here.  One  was  recog- 
nized, the  other  not.  The  unidentified  one  will 
soon  be  taken  to  the  grave." 

Then  Yevsey  saw  the  sullen  face  of  Zarubin. 
The  only  change  it  had  undergone  was  that  it  had 
grown  a  little  blue.  The  small  wound  in  place  of 
the  scar  had  been  washed,  and  had  turned  black. 
The  little  alert  body  was  naked  and  clean.  It  lay 
face  upward,  stretched  like  a  cord,  with  the  tanned 
hands  folded  over  the  bosom,  as  if  Zarubin  were 
sullenly  asking: 

"Well,  what?" 

Beside  him  lay  the  other  dark  body,  all  rent, 
swollen,  with  red,  blue,  and  yellow  stains.  Some- 
one had  covered  its  face  with  blue  and  white 
flowers.  But  under  them  Yevsey  could  see  the 
bones  of  the  skull,  a  tuft  of  hair  glued  together 
with  blood,  and  the  torn  shell  of  the  ear. 

Leaning  his  hump  against  the  wall,  the  old  man 
said: 

11  This  one  cannot  be  recognized.  He  has 
392 


THE  SPY  393 

almost  no  head.  Yet  he  was  identified.  Two 
ladies  came  yesterday  with  these  flowers  and 
covered  up  human  outrage.  As  for  the  other  one, 
he's  remained  unidentified." 

"  I  know  who  he  is,"  said  Yevsey  firmly. 
"  He's  Yakov  Zarubin.  He  served  in  the  Depart- 
ment of  Safety." 

The  watchman  looked  at  him,  and  shook  his 
head  in  negation. 

"  No,  it's  not  he.  The  police  told  us  he  was 
Zarubin,  and  our  office  inquired  of  the  Department 
of  Safety,  but  it  appeared  it  wasn't  he." 

"  But  I  know,"  Yevsey  exclaimed  quietly,  in  an 
offended  tone. 

"  In  the  Department  of  Safety  they  said,  *  We 
don't  know  such  a  person.  A  man  by  that  name 
never  served  here.'  " 

11  It's  not  true,"  exclaimed  Yevsey,  grieved  and 
dumfounded. 

Two  young  fellows  came  in  from  the  court,  one 
of  whom  asked  the  watchman: 

"  Which  is  the  unidentified  man?  " 

The  humpback  pointed  his  finger  at  Zarubin, 
and  said  to  Yevsey: 

"You  see?" 

Klimkov  walked  out  into  the  court,  thrust  a  coin 
into  the  watchman's  hand,  and  repeated  with 
impotent  stubbornness : 

"  It's  Zarubin,  I  tell  you." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  the  old  man,  shrugging 


394  THE  SPY 

his  hump.  "  But  if  it  is  so,  others  would  have 
recognized  him.  An  agent  came  here  yesterday 
in  search  of  someone  who  had  been  killed.  He 
didn't  recognize  your  man  either,  though  why 
shouldn't  he  admit  it  if  he  did?" 

"What  agent?" 
,  "  A  stout  man,  bald,  with  an  amiable  voice." 

"  Solovyov,"  guessed  Yevsey,  observing  dully 
that  Zarubin's  body  was  being  laid  in  a  white  un- 
painted  coffin. 

"  It  doesn't  go  in,"  mumbled  one  of  the  fellows. 

"  Bend  his  legs,  the  devil !  " 

"  The  lid  won't  close." 

"  Sidewise,  lay  him  in  sidewise,  eh?  " 

"  Don't  make  such  a  fuss,  boys,"  said  the  old 
man  calmly. 

The  fellow  who  held  the  head  of  the  body 
snuffled,  and  said: 

"  It's  a  spy,  Uncle  Fiodor." 

"  A  dead  man  is  nobody,"  observed  the  hump- 
back didactically,  walking  up  to  them.  The  fellows 
grew  silent,  continuing  to  squeeze  the  springy  tawny 
body  into  the  narrow  short  coffin. 

"  You  fools,  get  another  coffin,"  said  the  hump- 
back, angrily. 

"  It's  all  the  same,"  said  one,  and  the  other 
added  grimly,  "  He's  not  a  great  gentleman." 

Yevsey  left  the  court  carrying  in  his  soul  a 
bitter  humiliating  feeling  of  insult  in  behalf  of 
Zarubin.     Behind  him  he  clearly  heard  the  hump- 


THE  SPY  395 

back  say  to  the  men  as  they  bore  off  the 
body: 

"  Something  wrong  there,  too.  He  came  here, 
and  says  '  I  know  him.'  Maybe  he  knows  all 
about  this  affair." 

The  two  men  answered  almost  simultaneously: 

"  Seems  to  be  a  spy,  too." 

"  What's  the  difference  to  us?  " 

Klimkov  quickly  jumped  into  a  cab,  and  shouted 
to  the  driver: 

"Hurry!" 

"Where  to?" 

Yevsey  answered  quietly  and  not  at  once: 

u  Straight  ahead." 

The  insulting  thoughts  dully  knocked  in  his 
head. 

"  They  bury  him  like  a  dog  —  no  one  wants 
him  —  and  me,  too  — " 

The  streets  came  to  meet  him.  The  houses 
rocked  and  swayed,  the  windows  gleamed.  People 
walked  noisily,  and  everything  was  alien. 

"  To-day  I'm  going  to  make  an  end  of  Sasha. 
I'll  go  there  at  once  and  shoot  him."  In  a  moment 
he  was  already  compelled  to  persuade  himself: 
"  It's  got  to  be  done.  As  for  me,  nothing  matters 
to  me  any  more." 

Dismissing  the  cabman  he  walked  into  a 
restaurant,  to  which  Sasha  came  less  frequently 
than  to  the  others.  He  stopped  in  front  of  the 
door  of  the  room  where  the  spies  gathered. 


396  THE  SPY 

"  The  instant  I  see  him,  I'll  shoot  him,"  he  said 
to  himself. 

He  knocked  at  the  door  tremulously,  and  felt 
the  revolver  in  his  hand.  His  soul  was  congealed 
in  cold  expectation. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  asked  someone  on  the  other 
side  of  the  door. 

The  door  was  opened  a  little.  In  the  chink 
flashed  the  eyes  and  reddish  little  nose  of  Solovyov. 

"  Ah-h-h  !"he  drawled  in  amazement.  "  There 
was  a  rumor  that  you  had  been  killed." 

"  No,  I  have  not  been  killed,"  Klimkov  re- 
sponded sullenly,  removing  his  coat. 

"  I  see.  Lock  the  door.  They  say  you  went 
with  Melnikov  —  " 

Solovyov  was  thoroughly  masticating  a  piece  of 
ham;  which  interfered  with  his  articulation.  His 
greasy  lips  smacked  slowly  and  let  out  the  uncon- 
cerned words,  "  So,  it  isn't  true  that  you  went 
with  Melnikov?" 

"Why  isn't  it  true?" 

"  Why,  here  you  are  alive,  and  he's  in  bad 
shape.     I  saw  him  yesterday." 

"Where?" 

The  spy  named  the  hospital  from  which  Yevsey 
had  just  come. 

"Why  is  he  there?"  Klimkov  inquired 
apathetically. 

"  That  is  it:  a  Cossack  struck  him  a  sabre  blow 


THE  SPY  397 

on  the  head,  and  the  horses  trampled  him.  It's 
not  known  how  it  happened,  or  why.  He's  un- 
conscious. The  physicians  say  he  won't  recov- 
er." 

Solovyov  poured  some  sort  of  green  whiskey 
into  a  glass,  held  it  up  to  the  light,  and  examined 
it  with  sere  wed-up  eyes.  After  which  he  drank 
it,  and  asked: 

"Where  are  you  hiding  yourself?" 

"  I'm  not  hiding." 

"  You  have  been  hiding  all  the  same." 

A  plate  fell  to  the  floor  in  the  corridor. 
Yevsey  started.  He  remembered  he  had  forgotten 
to  remove  the  revolver  from  his  overcoat  pocket. 
He  rose  to  his  feet. 

11  Sasha  is  fuming  at  you." 

Before  Yevsey's  eyes  swam  the  sinister  red  disk 
of  the  moon  surrounded  by  a  cloud  of  ill-smelling 
lilac-colored  mist.  He  recalled  the  snuffling,  ever- 
commanding  voice,  the  yellow  fingers  of  the  bony 
hands. 

"Won't  he  come  here?" 

"I  don't  know.     Why?" 

Solovyov's  face  wore  a  sleek  expression. 
Apparently  he  was  very  well  satisfied  with  some- 
thing. In  his  voice  sounded  the  careless  affability 
of  an  aristocrat.  All  this  was  repulsive  to  Yevsey. 
Incoherent  thoughts  tossed  about  in  his  mind,  one 
breaking  the  other  off. 

"  You  are  all  rascals  —  sorry  for  Melnikov  — 


398  THE  SPY 

so  this  obese  fellow  didn't  want  to  recognize 
Yakov  —  why?" 

11  Did  you  see  Zarubin?  " 

"That's  who?"  asked  Solovyov,  raising  his 
brows. 

11  You  know.  He  lay  in  the  hospital  there. 
You  saw  him." 

11  Yes,  yes,  yes.     Of  course  I  saw  him." 

11  Why  didn't  you  say  there  that  you  knew 
him  ?  "     Yevsey  demanded  sternly. 

The  old  spy  reared  his  bald  head,  and  exclaimed 
in  astonishment  with  a  sarcastic  expression : 

"W-w-w-hat?" 

Yevsey  repeated  the  question,  but  this  time  in  a 
milder  tone. 

"  That's  not  your  business,  my  dear  fellow.  I 
want  you  to  know  that.  But  I'm  sorry  for  your 
stupidity,  so  I'll  tell  you,  we  have  no  need  for 
fools,  we  don't  know  them,  we  don't  comprehend 
them,  we  don't  recognize  them.  You  are  to  under- 
stand that,  now  and  forever,  for  all  your  life. 
Remember  what  I  say,  and  tie  your  tongue  with 
a  string." 

The  little  eyes  of  Solovyov  sparkled  cold  as 
two  silver  coins,  his  voice  bespoke  evil  and  cruelty. 
He  shook  his  short  thick  fingers  at  Yevsey.  His 
greedy  bluish  lips  were  drawn  sullenly.  But  he 
was  not  horrible. 

11  It's  all  the  same,"  thought  Yevsey.  "  They] 
are  all  one  gang  —  they  all  ought  to  be  —  "  ^ — J 


THE  SPY  399 

He  darted  to  his  overcoat,  snatched  the  revolver 
from  the  pocket,  aimed  at  Solovyov,  and  shouted 
dully: 

"Well!" 

The  old  man  crawled  from  his  chair,  and 
grovelled  on  the  floor,  looking  like  a  large  heap  of 
dirt.  He  seized  the  leg  of  the  table  with  one 
hand,  and  stretched  the  other  toward  Yevsey. 

"  Don't  —  you  mustn't,"  he  muttered  in  a  loud 
whisper.     "  My  dear  sir,  don't  touch  me." 

Klimkov  pressed  the  trigger  more  tightly,  more 
tightly.  His  head  chilled  with  the  effort,  his  hair 
shook. 

11 1  will  go  away  —  I'm  going  to  get  married 
to-morrow  —  I'll  go  away  —  for  always  —  I'll 
never  — "  His  heavy  cowardly  words  rustled 
and  crept  in  the  air.  Grease  glistened  on  his  chin, 
and  the  napkin  over  his  bosom  quivered. 

The  revolver  did  not  shoot.  Yevsey's  finger 
pained,  and  horror  took  powerful  possession  of  him 
from  head  to  foot,  impeding  his  breath. 

"  I  can  give  you  money,"  Solovyov  whispered 
more  quickly.  "  I  will  tell  nothing  —  I  will  keep 
quiet  —  always  —  I  understand  — " 

Klimkov  raised  his  hand  and  flung  the  revolver 
at  the  spy.  Then  he  caught  up  his  overcoat,  and 
ran  off.     Two  feeble  shouts  overtook  him: 

"Ow,  ow!" 


CHAPTER   XXX 

HHHE  shrieks  stuck  to  Yevsey,  to  the  back  of  his 
-*■  neck,  like  leeches.  They  filled  him  with 
insane  horror,  and  drove  him  on,  on,  and  on. 
Behind  him  a  crowd  of  people  were  gathering, 
it  seemed  to  him,  noiselessly,  their  feet  never 
touching  the  ground.  They  ran  after  him  stretch- 
ing out  scores  of  long  clutching  hands,  which 
reached  his  neck,  and  touched  his  hair.  They 
played  with  him,  mocked  him,  disappearing  and 
reappearing.  He  took  cabs,  rode  for  a  while, 
jumped  out,  ran  along  the  streets,  and  rode  again. 
For  the  crowd  was  near  him  all  the  time  unseen, 
yet  so  much  the  more  horrible. 

He  felt  more  at  ease  when  he  saw  before  him 
the  dark  patterned  wall  of  bare  boughs,  which 
stretched  to  meet  him.  He  dived  into  the  thicket 
of  trees,  and  walked  in  between  them,  strangely 
moving  his  hands  behind  his  back,  as  if  to  draw  the 
trees  together  more  compactly  behind  him.  He 
descended  into  a  ravine,  seated  himself  on  the  cold 
soil,  and  rose  again.  Then  he  walked  the  length 
of  the  ravine,  breathing  heavily,  perspiring,  drunk 
with  fear.  Soon  he  saw  an  opening  between  the 
trees.  He  listened  carefully,  noiselessly  advanced 
a  few  steps  further,  and  looked.     In  front  of  him 

400 


THE  SPY  401 

stretched  the  earthwork  of  a  railroad,  beyond  which 
rose  more  trees.  These  were  small  and  far-be- 
tween. Through  the  network  of  their  branches 
shone  the  grey  roof  of  a  building. 

He  walked  back  quickly  up  the  channel  of  the 
ravine,  to  where  the  woods  were  thicker  and  darker. 

"  They'll  catch  me,"  the  cold  assurance  pushed 
him  on.  "  They'll  catch  me  —  they  must  be  look- 
ing for  me  already  —  they're  running." 

A  soft  ringing  sound  strayed  through  the  woods. 
It  came  from  anear,  and  shook  the  thin  branches, 
which  swayed  in  the  dusk  of  the  ravine,  filling  the 
air  with  their  rustle.  Under  his  feet  crackled  thin 
ice,  which  covered  the  grey  dried-out  little  pits  of 
the  bed  of  a  stream  with  white  skin. 

Klimkov  sat  down,  bent  over,  and  put  a  piece 
of  ice  in  his  mouth.  The  next  instant  he  jumped 
to  his  feet,  and  clambered  up  the  steep  slope  of  the 
ravine.  Here  he  removed  his  belt  and  suspenders, 
and  began  to  tie  them  together,  at  the  same  time 
carefully  examining  the  branches  over  his  head. 

"  I  don't  have  to  take  my  overcoat  off,"  he 
reflected  without  self-pity.  "  The  heavier,  the 
quicker." 

He  was  in  a  hurry,  his  fingers  trembled,  and  his 
shoulders  involuntarily  rose,  as  if  to  conceal  his 
neck.  In  his  head  a  timorous  thought  kept 
knocking. 

11  I  won't  have  time.     I'll  be  too  late." 

A  train  passed  along  the  edge  of  the  woods. 


402  THE  SPY 

The  trees  hummed  in  displeasure,  and  the  ground 
quivered.  The  white  vapor  threaded  its  way  be- 
tween the  branches.  It  stole  through  the  air,  and 
melted  away,  as  though  to  get  a  look  at  this  man, 
and  then  disappear  from  his  eyes. 

Titmice  came  flying  and  whistling  boldly.  They 
gleamed  in  the  dark  nets  of  the  branches,  and  their 
quick  bustle  hastened  the  movements  of  Yevsey's 
cold  and  disobedient  fingers. 

He  made  a  slipknot  in  the  strap,  threw  it  over 
a  branch,  and  tugged  at  it.  It  was  firm.  Then, 
just  as  hurriedly,  he  began  to  make  a  slipknot  in 
his  suspenders,  which  he  had  twisted  into  a  braid. 
When  everything  was  ready,  he  heaved  a  sigh. 

11  Now  I  ought  to  say  my  prayers." 

But  no  prayer  came  to  him.  He  thought  for  a 
few  seconds.  The  words  flashed  up,  but  were  in- 
stantly extinguished,  without  forming  themselves 
into  a  prayer. 

11  Rayisa  knew  my  fate,"  he  recalled  unex- 
pectedly. 

Thrusting  his  head  into  the  noose,  he  said 
quietly,  simply,  and  without  a  quiver  in  his  breast : 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy 
Ghost—" 

He  pushed  the  ground  with  his  feet,  and  jumped 
into  the  air,  doubling  his  legs  under  him.  There 
was  a  painful  tug  at  his  ears,  a  strange  inward 
blow  hit  his  head,  and  stunned  him.  He  fell. 
His  entire  body  struck  the  hard  earth,  turned  over, 


THE  SPY  403 

and  rolled  down  the  declivity.  His  arms  caught 
in  the  roots  of  trees,  his  head  knocked  against 
trunks.     He  lost  consciousness. 

When  he  recovered  his  senses,  he  found  him- 
self sitting  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  the  torn  sus- 
penders dangling  over  his  breast.  His  trousers 
were  burst,  his  scratched,  blood-stained  knees 
looked  through  the  cloth  pitifully.  His  body  was 
a  mass  of  pain,  especially  his  neck;  and  the  cold 
seemed  to  be  flaying  his  skin.  Throwing  himself 
on  his  back  Yevsey  looked  up  the  incline.  There 
under  a  white  birch  branch  the  strap  swung  in  the 
air  like  a  thin  serpent,  and  lured  him  to  itself. 

"  I  can't,"  he  said  to  himself  in  despair.  u  I 
can't  —  nothing  —  I  don't  know  how." 

He  began  to  cry  fine  tears  of  impotence  and 
insult.  He  lay  with  his  back  on  the  ground,  and 
through  his  tears  saw  over  him  the  one-toned  dim 
sky,  streaked  by  the  dry  designs  of  the  dark 
branches. 

He  lay  for  a  long  time  muffled  in  his  overcoat, 
suffering  from  cold  and  pain.  Without  his 
willing  it,  his  strange  senseless  life  passed  before 
him  like  a  chain  of  smoke-dark  rings.  It  passed 
by  him  impetuously.  It  trampled  pitilessly  upon 
his  half-dead  soul,  crushing  it  finally  with  heavy 
blows,  which  prevented  one  spark  of  hope  from 
glimmering  in  his  heart.  It  pressed  him  to  the 
ground 

A  dismal  chord  hummed  and  trembled  brokenly 


404  THE  SPY 

in  his  breast.  Its  lugubrious  song  spread  through 
his  bones.  His  little  dry  body,  quivering  with 
a  sickly  tremor,  shrivelled  up  in  the  cold  of  the 
twilight  into  a  shelterless  heap,  pressed  itself  more 
and  more  closely  to  the  ground,  so  firm  and  so 
powerful. 

Trains  passed  the  woods  several  times,  filling  it 
with  a  creaking  and  rumbling,  with  clouds  of  steam 
and  rays  of  light.  The  rays  glided  by  the  trunks 
of  the  trees,  as  if  feeling  them,  as  if  in  search  of 
somebody  there.  Then  they  hastily  disappeared, 
quick,  trembling,  and  cold. 

When  they  found  Yevsey  and  touched  him,  he 
raised  himself  to  his  feet  with  difficulty,  and 
plunged  into  the  obscurity  of  the  woods  in  pursuit 
of  them.  He  stopped  at  the  edge,  and  leaned 
against  a  tree,  waiting  and  listening  to  the  distant 
angry  hum  of  the  city.  It  was  already  evening,  I 
the  sky  had  grown  purple.  Over  the  city  quietly 
flared  a  dim  red.  The  lights  were  being  kindled 
to  meet  the  night. 

From  a  distance  sprang  up  a  howling  noise  and  a 
drone.  The  rails  began  to  sing  and  ring.  A  train 
was  passing  over  them,  its  red  eyes  twinkling  in  the 
twilight.  And  the  dusk  quickly  sailed  after  it, 
growing  ever  thicker  and  darker.  Yevsey  went 
to  the  roadbed  as  fast  as  he  could,  sank  on  his 
knees,  then  laid  his  side  across  the  road,  with  his  I 
back  to  the  train,   and  his  neck  upon  the  rail. 


THE  SPY  405 

He  enveloped  his  head  closely  in  the  skirts  of  his 
overcoat. 

For  some  seconds  it  was  pleasant  to  feel  the 
burning  contact  of  the  iron.  It  appeased  the  pain 
in  his  neck,  but  the  rail  trembled  and  sang  louder, 
moie  alarmingly.  It  filled  his  whole  body  with  an 
aching  groan.  The  earth,  too,  now  quivered  with 
a  fine  tremor,  as  if  swimming  away  from  under 
his  body  and  pushing  him  from  itself. 

The  train  rolled  heavily  and  slowly,  but  the 
clang  of  its  couplings,  the  even  raps  of  the  wheels 
upon  the  joinings  of  the  rails  were  already  deaf- 
ening. Its  snorting  breath  pushed  Klimkov  in  the 
back.  Everything  round  about  him  and  with  him 
shook  in  tempestuous  agitation,  and  tore  him  from 
the  ground. 

He  could  wait  no  longer.  He  jumped  to  his 
feet,  ran  along  the  rails,  and  shouted  in  a  high 
screech : 

"I  am  guilty  —  I  will  —  everything  —  I  will, 
I  will!" 

Along  the  smoothly  polished  metal  of  the  rails 
darted  reddish  rays  of  light,  outstripping  Klimkov. 
They  glared  more  and  more  fiercely.  Now  glow- 
ing strips  to  each  side  of  him  ran  impetuously  into 
the  distance,  directing  his  course. 

"  I  will  —  "  he  yelled,  waving  his  hands. 

Something  hard  and  wide  struck  his  back.  He 
fell  across  the  sleepers  between  the  red  cords  of 
rail,  and  the  harsh  iron  rumble  crushed  his  feeble 
screams. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


JEA 


^_i 


«3TET 


D  LD 


MAY  6    1963 


' 





~ 





r.    o»-1 


KEC.  C1R. 


AUG  15  *» 


LD  21A-50m-4,'60 
(A9562sl0)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


